


Prompt fills

by JulesD (julesdrenages)



Category: Haikyuu!!, Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball, 弱虫ペダル | Yowamushi Pedal
Genre: M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Tumblr Memes, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-14 09:50:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 37,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4560081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julesdrenages/pseuds/JulesD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles/ficlets I wrote for tumblr prompts. Updates will be linked to my activities there.</p><p> </p><p>FINAL UPDATE: 08.07.2017:<br/>29. TouMaki - "I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice!"<br/>30. AsaNoya - "Tell me a secret!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Wait a minute. Are you jealous?" - TouMaki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . Written for an anonymous tumblr user.  
> . Future!ficlet featuring model!Makishima.

Toudou is perfectly aware of the fact that he shouldn’t feel the way he does, but he can’t really help himself. He has been waiting for the chance to fly to London for _years_ , now: so far, it has always been Makishima jumping on a plane and going back and forth their countries, and even though Makishima says he’s happy to do it, that it doesn’t bother him at all because there’s this ‘ _coming home’_ feel to it that he adores (and isn’t, in fact, wonderful to have him still address Japan, the country where Toudou lives, as _home_ ), Toudou has wanted to flip their positions for a while, at least once.

There’s the matter of a long-distance relationship to maintain, which blends with the need to see with his own eyes the places Makishima tells him about, meet the people Makihsima spends his days with, hear the foreign language Makishima has learned to speak so naturally, breathe that air that his lover can’t physically share with him. He has spent a good part of the flight being excited about the upcoming days, thrilled at the thought of following Makishima around in his daily activities and finally be a part of them, although for such a small time.

He already knows everything about Makishima’s schedule, of course, about his studies, his work at Ren’s Design and his less-official jobs. He knows that Makishima’s way of helping out his brother doesn’t stop at playing secretary and being an active source of tips, ideas and manpower for the creation of weird outfits. He _knows_ Makishima has been modelling their own creations for months: they’ve discussed it on video calls at unholy hours and Makishima has sent him the catalogues and magazines they’ve been featured in – once he got over the embarrassment, of course. It’s another piece of the huge, unknown puzzle that is _“Makishima in London_ ”, and Toudou loves to hear about it: about fancy clothes and people styling Makishima’s hair, drowning him in make-up and taking hundreds of pictures of him to find the perfect one, the one to put on a glossy cover an advertising banner, their on-line shop.

He’s ready and eager to witness that specific creative process, or so he’s been telling himself for ages. So he’s been _thinking_ for ages. Because while the dressing-rooms and settings and equipment are exactly as he imagined – and the people involved are even more polite and bright-smiled than he expected – Toudou had never _considered_ that there would have been so many _hands_ on Maki-chan.

There’s his brother, of course, selecting the pieces and fussing over his younger sibling in that touchy way of his. There’s their other tailor, helping Makishima into said dresses, watching him getting naked in between changes and pawing him everywhere to pin the outfits to his body in the most flattering (for the clothes) way possible. There’s the hairstylist, so familiar with Makishima’s hair that he keeps playing around with it, making Makishima laugh and never stopping holding onto those green locks Toudou always caresses with reverence, and is almost possessive over. There’s the make-up artist that knows every freckle on Makishima’s nose, every mole on his jaw, every line of his face, every shade of his irises – she’s the girl that spreads foundation with her fingertips sometimes, that grabs Makishima’s face with her palms and turns it around as she pleases. There’s the photographer that outright tells Makishima to look sultry, to spread his legs in this or that direction, to bend a little more to the left, to cock his hips in that amazing way he _always_ does.

And it’s a bit too much for Toudou’s liking, and Makishima might have sensed it, because over lunch break he pads over with a clean face, loose hair and clad in his casual clothes, hugs Toudou and kisses his cheek (and Makishima hardly ever initiates things) and asks him what’s wrong.

And Toudou can’t really put the feeling into words, not when there are lots of things he’s in awe about (like how good Makishima looks under the spotlights and how wonderfully confident he is in Ren’s clothes) and he should really focus on those. But he also can, and should, and does – whispering “ _I didn’t think there would have been so much touching involved_ ” and “ _These people really_ know _you well, Maki-chan…”_ to which Makishima’s expression shifts to a slightly upset one at first, then it turns thoughtful and finally becomes utterly _mischievous_. He presses two fingers on Toudou’s babbling lips and silences him.

-          _Wait a minute. …are you_ jealous _?_

And Toudou can’t even bring himself to agree, not vocally, because he’s too busy processing the fact that he agrees in the first place, and just nods at Makishima, gaping like a fish and flushing scarlet. But Makishima doesn’t look angry and just smiles softly (although a little bit slyly) and kisses him again – and Toudou finds himself pulled along towards the break-room, where _everyone_ is having lunch, where all the people working with Makishima sit together and he can’t even speak English very well and… and…

*

Two weeks later, he boards the plane with a brand new photobook in his handbag, one that features him (and, occasionally, Maki-chan), signed by every single one of his new European friends and bearing their love. And every single bit of Makishima-related piece of gossip and trivia fact they had knowledge of.


	2. "I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified" - TouMaki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . Written for an anonymous tumblr user.  
> . Not canon compliant, for minor details concerning the timing of Makishima's chat with Toudou about England.

Makishima hates to admit it, but he’s been thinking about it a lot. “ _It_ ” being his relationship with Toudou, especially now that the time has come for him to breach the subject of ‘ _going abroad to study – who knows when and if I will ever come back_ ’.

Things have been kind of awkward between him and Toudou lately. It might have something to do with the lingering, longing stares they share, and the casual touches that seems to have multiplied, the maybe-more-than-friendly hugs and quick kisses exchanged in secret, the loud silences on the phone, full of words unspoken and yet there, perfectly audible and discernible if only Makishima was able to speak their language.

His phone buzzes on the desk and _of course_ it’s Toudou. He has always had the worst timing, which would actually be the best as well, if you only looked at it from the opposite perspective… either way, it has never failed to push Makishima into a perpetual state of distress that is one part annoyance (at himself) and two parts performance anxiety. He needs a bicycle, and a slope – possibly the steepest available – but he’s alone in his bedroom, wearing casual clothes, and his phone is _still_ buzzing.

So he just picks up and doesn’t say anything. Weirdly enough, Toudou doesn’t, either, and instead of the endless stream of loud blabbering Makishima has learned to expect (and wanted to hide behind, this time) there’s only silence at both ends of the line. It only makes things more awkward as far as Makishima is concerned, because he can _feel_ that Toudou _knows_ something’s off, that he’s waiting for _Makishima_ this time, because it’s indeed Makishima’s responsibility to say it out loud and out of his own free will – it wouldn’t be the same if Toudou nagged him about it and pulled the news out of him by force. It wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be _fair_.

Makishima takes a deep breath.

-          I’m going to England. For a while.

There’s a muffled but unmistakable intake of breathe on Toudou’s side and in every other moment Makishima would have felt proud at having left him speechless. Now he only feels empty.

-          My… my brother lives there. Works there. He’s a designer, you see. I’d like to… to help him with his job… study to work in fashion, I…

His words are met by silence, a hostile one, and nothing else. He stutters and gives up.

-          I’m sor-

-          I wish you the best, Maki-chan.

And for the first time in almost three years, Toudou hangs up on him

*

When people, hours, days, weeks, months and years later, ask him about what propelled him to act like he did, at that moment, Makishima would honestly answer that he doesn’t know. It’s the truth, but it isn’t all of it.

He remembers feeling too many things at once, resulting in a state of mind very difficult to describe with words, since every time he uses one of them it seems to reduce the situation and downplay it to something it has never been, not completely. He remembers surprise, at the novelty of being cut off by Toudou. He remembers the burn of rejection. He remembers hollowness. He remembers _fear_ , mostly. He remembers frustration, and anger, and fear again. Of leaving, of being left behind, of going on with his life without a fundamental part of it, of coming back in a year and discovering Toudou has moved on. He remembers his thoughts and feelings making sense for the first time, his mind opening in astounding clarity. He remembers dreams clashing together and sending him into panic, because how could he have _both_ things in the light of his upcoming departure? But, on the other hand, how could he just _give up_ on either of them? He remembers grabbing for the phone blindly, hitting the keys without looking at them, dialling the call with a urgency he never had, never had the _need_ to have until that moment, when the rings kept following each other – and maybe he understood the relief in Toudou’s voice whenever Makishima picked up his calls…

*

The line opens and there’s silence again. He can hear Toudou breathing on the other end and it’s testament to his epiphany that Makishima realizes, from Toudou’s breathing alone, just how angry and hurt he is. Or maybe he’s only making things up and is going to make a spectacular fool of himself, but somehow it doesn’t seem the case.

Makishima speaks first, again, and there’s no trace in his voice of the hesitation he showed before.

-          I think I’m in love with you, and I’m terrified.

There’s another gasp, but it’s far more emotional now, and far less hostile than the previous one. And the breathing grows heavier, maybe there’s a muffled sniff somewhere, and then it comes Toudou’s voice like Makishima is used to hear it when they are reaching for the finish line together. When ostentatious flamboyance leaves room to concentration, focus and pure passion. It holds the kind of attitude, Makishima realizes, that made him fall for Toudou in the first place. And right behind it, there it is, the comfortable lightness tinged with affection and a subtle hint of reproach. “ _Took you long enough_ ”, it seems to say, but with no trace of hard feelings, just Toudou being Toudou, which is everything Makishima could have asked for.

-          We’ll work something out, Maki-chan. Now sit back and listen to me.

Toudou’s voice fills his ears and he lets out a long breath, feeling very heavy and very light at the same time, wanting to laugh and cry at the same time, and the quivering words coming from the phone tell him that maybe Toudou is feeling the same. But somehow, they’re in that mess together, as usual. And, as usual, that alone is enough for Makishima to be sure that things are going to be alright, somehow.


	3. "Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?" - TouMaki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . Written for an anonymous tumblr user.  
> . CoffeeShop!AU

The guy comes in every morning at 7:30 sharp, radiant no matter the weather outside – mostly thanks to a glowing smile that seems tattooed across his face. His laugh is infectious and rivals with the jingling bell mounted on top of the door and he always walks into the coffee shop like he owns the place, all cheerful and full of energy even at the brick of dawn, wishing a good day to every soul his eyes land on. He bikes uphill every morning as a form of training, thus calls himself the Mountain God, is obnoxious and arrogant and so full of himself that it’s a miracle his head hasn’t detached from the rest of his body and floated away, yet. But at the same time, he isn’t – not with the courtesy he always reserves to his elders and the small displays of kindness that are part of his routine as much as the glorification of his beloved (lame) headbands. A tip to the waitress he’s overheard talking about financial struggles, a silly chat with the kid that kept bothering him about his biking jersey, a step behind to leave his place in the queue to a visibly distressed young man and make him get his boss’s coffee on time.

Makishima knows his name is Toudou, because that is the word they call when it’s time for him to collect his order. He always walks to Makishima like a moth towards the light whenever he is on cash duty – and whenever he’s not, Toudou always finds a way to corner him and make a spectacle of talking to him, if only to wish him a good morning or compliment him for the perfect quality of his drink.

Makishima’s colleagues insist that Toudou has a crush on him, which is preposterous of course, and absolutely ridiculous, because Toudou is (and it pains Makishima to admit it, but it’s undeniable) perfection incarnated, with his regular features and fit body and beautiful face – not to mention well-mannered and easy-going – while Makishima is a gangly mass of long limbs and wild green hair and awkwardness, and the only reason he hasn’t been fired yet and banned from working with people is his ability to keep a poker face and scare off the most troublesome clients. To be fair, he can only put together pretty good beverages.

Toudou never breaks the routine, until the day he does and nobody sees him for several days.

Makishima doesn’t make much of it at first, even if Toudou has never missed his soy latte, not even for a day since Makishima has started his morning shifts, and if he did, he made sure everybody knew why beforehand.

When a day becomes two, and then three, Makishima finds it weird., But he doesn’t comment on it and just shrugs when the others point the oddity out to him: he doesn’t want people to notice he has _noticed_ (nobody falls for his play, anyway).

By the time fifth day rolls around, Makishima won’t admit even to himself that he’s kind of worried, maybe a little disappointed, and that he misses that stupid, too-handsome-to-be-real face.

During his free day, he even bikes up the mountain and passes in front of the coffee shop at 7:30 to glance inside. Still no Toudou. He feels twice as foolish as before.

The following Monday, ten days after his sudden disappearance, at 7:30 sharp, Toudou waltzes in like nothing happened and Makishima’s first instinct is to hurl a cup of scorching hot coffee at that moronic grin. In a matter of seconds Toudou has made his way to the counter (answering questions about his absence and explaining that the bad weather in the south damaged his family’s business nothing serious, thank the heavens, but still they needed all the help they could get and he just had to go and make sure they were alright and ready to start anew before coming back – by the way, he’s still going to lend them a hand for the upcoming holiday season and they are all invited to go spend some quality time at the famous hot springs of Toudou-An) and addresses Makishima directly. He says he’s sorry for making Makishima worry. And maybe Makishima’s first reaction is not to waste expensive coffee on that moron, after all, because what Toudou says next has little to do with how much that burns, but it’s more on the line of:

-          Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me, Maki-chan?

Makishima feels his cheeks grow hot and has a nasty remark already on the tip of his tongue, but then he lifts his eyes and sees that there’s no mockery in Toudou’s expression, not a knowing smirk nor a trace of taunting: just contentment and a somehow little, coy smile that doesn’t show his teeth – though it still makes his eyes sparkle. Makishima swallows.

-          Definitely another dimension.

Toudou nods.

-          I see. So, would the Maki-chan from this alternate universe write me his number on the cup?

Makishima glares.

-          Why would he want to do that?!

Toudou doesn’t miss a beat.

-          So I can text _my_ Maki-chan whenever I can’t make it to our morning dates and he doesn’t get worried. You see, he’s prickly and mean-looking but he’s also very sweet once you get past his sourness. I don’t want to hurt him.

Makishima starts on the usual soy latte without being prompted, bangs hiding his face. When he’s done and Toudou’s beverage is poured on a paper cup and sealed, he picks up a marker with trembling hands and scribbles a string of numbers on it. Then, even if his customer is right in front of him, he asks:

-          To whom does this order belong?

Toudou beams.

-          Jinpachi.

Makishima nods and adds the final characters before disappearing in the back in a midst of cheers and wolf-whistles from his loudest co-workers. Toudou walks away cradling the cup like a trophy or a treasure. Beneath the numbers, there’s another bunch of words, written in a spidery scrawl.

_“It’s not a date if I’m working. Fix it. – Yuusuke”_


	4. "I'm pregnant" - TouMaki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . Written for an anonymous tumblr user.  
> . Based on a headcanon of mine that I already discussed on tumblr. Not mpreg: I’m saving the mpreg-fill for this prompt for another, dedicated blog. You can ask me about it on tumblr.

They had got the turtles during a summer fair and it had been an accident, of course.

It had started as a date: lanterns, street-food, music, fireworks – and it had ended with the both of them getting competitive over every single game they stumbled on. Toudou had won the strength-contest and Makishima the shooting one. Toudou then had bested him in the balloon scooping, but Makishima had had his revenge at the hoop throwing booth.

They had tied at the goldfish scooping pool and gifted their prizes (fish included) to the adoring kids that had gathered around them. One little girl had almost fainted when Toudou presented her a fluffy unicorn plush that was as big as she was. Makishima had kept the balloons Toudou had scooped for him, though: bright-coloured, flashy-patterned things that clashed horribly with his already mismatched yukata (he adored them, obviously). Toudou held onto the ninja mask and set of headbands Makishima had handed him after hitting the jackpot at the hoops game, pointedly looking elsewhere.

There was only one game left, and they were bound to settle the score there. It was perfect, because _turtle scooping_ was a rare enough occurrence for them to fight on equal ground, so they paid the fee and knelt down at opposite sides of the small pool, facing each other and setting the air on fire with the intensity of their rivalry.

*

 _Of course_ it was a tie.

They left the celebrations holding onto their hardly won turtles, Makishima looking at his like it was a mutant, Toudou cooing over his own like a doting mother.

-          We should name them.

-          Should we?

-          Of course we should, Maki-chan! They’re our pets now!

-          But I can’t keep it…

-          What?!

-          I can’t bring it to England with me. I can’t even leave it at home: there’s enough to do with Josephine…

-          So, what were you going to do with it?

Makishima shrugged.

-          Give it to someone who can take care of it properly, maybe? Much like the goldfish…

-          I can keep it!

-          Can you?

-          Yes. There’s a pond at the inn, remember? We already kept turtles there, in the past… I was planning to let mine live there, having two instead of one doesn’t really make a difference. And you can come and visit any time, I’ll keep you updated on their well-being!

-          …thank you.

-          So now you have to name it, or I wouldn’t know how to call it.

Makishima rolled his eyes.

-          You go first.

It was Toudou’s turn to sigh.

-          You really are no fun, Maki-chan! Well, let’s see… I think this little guy here has a very distinct aura, haughty indeed, and he looks very dashing with his bright shell and clever eyes…

-          You’re assuming it’s male.

-          I know what I’m talking about, okay?! It’s a boy. I could call him Yamagami’s Little Helper…

-          That’s lame.

-          Oh, you try then!

Makishima bent and studied Toudou’s turtle through the bag.

-          He’s wearing a headband.

-          What?

-          See the lighter stripe across his head? It’s a headband. Just like yours. Hello there, Jinpachi!

-          How can you name an animal after me?!

-          At least it’s a proper name this time, isn’t it?

-          Yeah… just like little Maki-chan’s here!

-          Excuse me?!

-          Come on! Look at his colours! Your turtle is all flashy and bright, compared to the others! …and why is he swimming sideways, by the way? How does he even move his legs?

Makishima clutched the bag (and the turtle) to his chest protectively.

-          He has his own way of doing things, alright?! Stop judging him, he’s fine the way he is!

Toudou kissed his cheek and cooed at little Maki-chan in apology.

*

[Two years later]

-          I’m pregnant.

-          No, Maki-chan. _Maki-chan_ is pregnant. Technically, she laid a shittons of eggs but that’s pretty much the same, all in all. We’re expecting!

-          But why are you so sure it was me!?

-          Because I checked, you dunderhead, and there’s no mistake: Maki-chan has always been a girl and she’s going to be a mommy soon! Aren’t you excited!?

-          Jinpachi…

-          Come and see the children this summer, Maki-chan!

Makishima hung up.

*

[That summer]

 **From: Toudou**  
[Attached: THEY HATCHED.jpg]

I’M SO PROUD YOU HAVE NO IDEA THEY’RE OUR BABIES MAKI-CHAN AREN’T THEY PERFECT LOOK AT THEIR TINY SHELLS PLEASE COME AND SEE THEM I SWEAR YOU’RE THE BEST MOMMA EVER!

 

**To: Toudou**

Just landed. Be there for dinner.

PS: _Of course_ I am, you idiot!  <3


	5. "If you die I'm going to kill you" - TouMaki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . Written for tumblr user gorkyschildhood   
> . ZombieApocalypse!AU

Contrary to popular belief, out of the two of them, Makishima is the more reckless one. It’s not that he doesn’t think about the consequences of his actions, doesn’t care about the risks, because he does, very much so – but he’s also used to dealing with things in his own way, and if nowadays that means throwing himself in a pit of zombies, armed to the teeth and hoping for the best, so be it. Even if it’s only to retrieve some food.

Toudou hates it, of course he does, since he’s the one that doesn’t even unlock their bolted doors before thinking thrice about all the possible outcomes. And he’s right, there’s no denying it: it’s crystal clear which of the two mind-sets is more likely to grant their survival, in the long run. Given that they find a reason worth staying alive for, at that point, and sometimes that seems the most difficult thing. More than planting axes in caving skulls, sometimes.

They don’t know where their families are, if their friends made it, and they don’t even know what exactly happened. They were away on the other side of the country when the world turned upside down and people started dying before springing back to life again, although in a mock imitation of it. When every chance at communication shut down completely, followed by power, running water and every token of civilization, bit after bit. They don’t know if Japan’s the only country affected by the contagion (at least, it looks like a contagion) – and thus the rest of the world is probably getting ready to protect itself from the spreading plague by wiping their bunch of islands out of every map and the surface of the planet. Or maybe there is no safe place left on Earth anymore, already, so even their idea of getting a boat and sailing towards the continent doesn’t make sense. Being in the same zombie apocalypse but in a foreign environment would only kill them faster.

But the main problem is reaching a boat in the first place, all in all. It’s not like they didn’t consider taking shelter in the open sea: close enough to the shore to go back for food raids, far enough from it that the monsters can’t reach – they can’t swim, it seems. Not for long and not with purpose. The more decayed, the more useless in water. The thing is, finding adequate, functioning boats means looking for ports or touristic towns, places that were full of people when it all happened and thus are now the most dangerous death traps – they learned the hard way that zombies never wandered very far from where they’d risen.

They have agreed on walking south, going home, because not knowing is worse than getting killed in the attempt, and if death is already waiting for them, it feels better to go meet it in their hometown, surrounded by the people they had loved and by whom they had been loved. Or what is left of them.

At one point, Toudou stops telling him off for his stunts: he knows and accepts that Makishima is not going to change his ways, and Makishima is glad for the lack of nagging, but it doesn’t make either of them feel better. Instead of being yelled at, nowadays Makishima usually finds himself pulled into a tight hug every time he’s safe inside their refuges. He’s not mad enough to pull away first, not when he needs the contact and closeness as much as Toudou does, not when the worry in Toudou’s eyes leaves space to a relief greater than the one Makishima himself feels. Sometimes he thinks he’s come to crave touching more than his companion: it’s hard to let go of the last breathing human being left in his world, of the warmth of his skin, of the light in his eyes and the sound of his voice. Especially when the rest of their world is made of rotting flesh, empty sockets, guttural noises coming from open throats and inarticulate movements. Especially when Makishima has already loved Toudou for so long, and no amount of weight loss, sullen skin, lack of sleep and shaved hair can convince him to give up. He doesn’t look much better himself, after all, and Toudou is still there, clinging to him whenever they can afford it, which is not nearly as often as Makishima would like.

*

It comes back to Makshima on the day they have to dive into a fight together to clear their path, advance and claim a new house for themselves: a new town, maybe a little closer to their goal, if they have done their homework properly.

It is something Toudou has told him often, but it started very early on their journey, with the two of them sitting in the wrecked room of the inn they had been staying at, a building they were to leave soon. They were taking turns in helping each other shave off their hair, anything the corpses could have grabbed onto. Toudou had hidden his face between Makishima’s shoulders, hugging him from behind: “ _If you die, Maki-chan,I swear I’m going to kill you_ ”. Makishima had nodded solemnly and done his best to keep the promise.

Weeks, or months, later he lounges forward, following Toudou’s plan and taking strength from witnessing just how well-thought it is. Then again, Toudou would never put Makishima’s life in danger, not when it isn’t strictly necessary and, even in that case, Toudou would be right beside him, to make sure Makishima keeps breathing.

But Makishima has always been the quickest to adapt and react to critical situations, so when a monster catches them by surprise and gets a grab of Toudou and bites down onto his forearms, it’s Makishima that fires the shot that disintegrates the thing’s head, Makishima that brings them to the roof they have selected and Makishima that makes a quick job of securing it and annihilating every possible, immediate threat.

He knows Toudou is scared, holding onto his arm with a distraught expression that is more apologetic towards Makishima than worried for himself, and yet not uncovering it. Makishima also knows he is even more terrified. So when Toudou does the bravest thing and pulls his sleeve up with eyes full of tears, and they both see the unarmed skin, it’s Makishima that falls to his knees with a wrecking sob. The padding has been Toudou’s idea, of course.

They cradle each other in the hot afternoon, not letting go even when thirst and hunger become an issue.

Makishima can’t get enough of Toudou’s lips.

-          I swear, Jinpachi, if you die, I’m going to kill you.


	6. "Wanna dance?" - TouMaki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> . Written for tumblr user gorkyschildhood.  
> . Wedding!AU

Makishima hates weddings.

More specifically: he hates being dragged to wedding parties where he doesn’t know anybody, just to do his _mother_ a favour.

The groom is some young colleague of hers, the whole office has been invited and being her the head of the department, hence the man’s direct superior, she couldn’t turn him down. But since Makishima’s father has been on the other side of the country for business since last week, Ren has gone back on the other side of the _world_ just to be safe, and Yoko is barely a teenage girl, and thus out of the question, the only possible chaperon left for his mother was Yuusuke himself. Much to his chagrin.

He believes he ought to stop drinking: the fact that his mother can finally socialize with her acquaintances and that there’s an open bar he can crash at doesn’t really allow him to get so drunk he can’t sit straight. On the other hand, he has managed to survive through a full-course dinner without embarrassing his mother once (quite the accomplishment, for someone with green hair at a formal gathering), so he kind of deserves some booze.

He is considering the flavour of his next Martini when the stool beside him disappears beneath the most beautiful man Makishima has ever seen. How come he hasn’t noticed him so far? Oh wait, the _headband_. That’s why.

The stranger seems far more sober than he should be at this hour and stage of the party. He also seems eager to chat, which is way worse, as far as Makishima is concerned.

-          Groom or bride?

Makishima considers not answering and playing deaf until the man desists, but hell, he _is_ attractive. And Makishima hasn’t had a conversation with someone more or less his age in the whole night, so whatever.

-          Groom.

-          Cool. I’m on the bride side! Don’t you think they make a beautiful couple? They are made for each other, it makes you believe in the whole “ _kindred spirits”_ thing, wouldn’t you say?

Too many words too quickly: Makishima already regrets his decision and _it shows_.

-          I wouldn’t say anything, it’s the first time I see either of them. I don’t even think I remember their names but… I agree?

-          You agree?

-          You probably know them better than me, so yeah…

-          Are you drunk..?

-          That’s an interesting question. The answer is “not enough”, I believe.

The stranger looks unreadable.

-          Are you here with someone?

Makishima turns around on the stool (bad move – bad, _bad_ move) and scans the lowly lit garden to find his mother. He spots her near a pillar of the gazebo and gestures towards her with his chin. The stranger barely reigns in a gasp and looks like someone that has just swallowed a lemon.

-          Y-Your escort?

-          My _mother_.

-          _Oh thank god!_

Makishima faces the stranger with the intention of being offended, but he finds himself chuckling beside this easy-going man and giggling at his comically relieved face.

-          She’s the groom’s boss. Couldn’t say no. Dad’s not available tonight and here I am. Much against my will. Sorry.

The stranger lets out a relieved breath and smiles mischievously.

-          See that girl in purple, over there? She’s the bride’s younger sister. She needed a fake boyfriend to piss of her ex, that would be the sulking guy that left an hour ago.

-          Oh, I noticed him.

-          So, here I am. I don’t think I was aware of the existence of an engaged older sister of hers until a week ago…

-          So you’re not…?

-          We went to school together and kept in touch. I play for the other team, actually, if you know what I mean.

Makishima freezes.

-          I… I do.

The stranger facepalms.

-          Gosh… I’m drunker than I thought if I actually said that out loud. Listen, I’m sorry, forget about it. Geez, what’s gotten into me. Get a grip of yourself, Jinpachi. I won’t bother you anymore.

Makishima leans towards him.

-          Wait. I-It’s not a problem.

The strangers stops.

-          It isn’t?

-          N-No. I mean. You’re not bothering me. Don’t worry.

“ _Jinpachi_ ” relaxes and smiles. It looks good on him.

-          Thank you. I’ll just have another drink, then.

-          Their Apple Martini is very good. I recommend it.

Jinpachi looks at him with a raised eyebrow and a very interested expression. Makishima rolls his eyes.

-          _Fine_. I play for the other team too. _Happy?_

-          Very much. I was hoping for it, actually.

-          _What?_

-          I came here because I think you look dashing and I was intoxicated and bored enough to try my luck. Did I waste my time?

Makishima sips his Apple Martini pondering the question. It doesn’t take much.

-          Nah, I don’t think you did.

Jinpachi smiles again. It’s so natural and genuine it makes Makishima want to pull up his own lips. Maybe he does.

-          Wanna dance?

It doesn’t last.

-          I don’t dance.

-          Well, neither do I, but I doubt the bartender is going to give us more drinks and the music sounds slow enough and the dance-floor is packed, it’s not like they would pay attention to us…

Makishima studies him: the hint of a fit body beneath the shirt, the unquestionably handsome face, the irreverent lightness. He offers his hand.

-          You lead.

Jinpachi laughs.

-          Alright! Just trust me - …?

-          Makishima. Yuusuke Makishima.

Jinpachi’s eyes soften.

-          Toudou Jinpachi. Just trust me, Maki-chan!

Makishima’s indignation is enough to clear his head.

-          What did you just call me?!

Toudou keeps laughing as they stumble to the dance-floor and people make room for them in a hidden corner. Makishima looks around enough to see his mother _winking_ at him.

God, he _hates_ weddings.

…even though stepping on Toudou’s polished shoes and laughing with him about how hopeless they are makes it a little more bearable, all in all.


	7. "Is there a reason you are naked in my bed?" - MidoTaka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> . Written for tumblr user leona-dracontis (as a birthday gift! ;) )  
> . This is actually a preview from a brand new AU that will see the light somewhen soon… eheh…

 Midorima looked down at the bunk bed, scowling. His frontman (technically, the frontman of the _Legendary Kings_ , but it wasn’t that much of a stretch to say ‘ _his_ ’, even if it made him uncomfortable, for some reason Midorima didn’t want to stop thinking about).

-          What’s the meaning of this?

Takao lifted his very blue, very alluring, very _intoxicated_ eyes towards the source of the voice, only to find his manager (technically, the manager of the _Legendary Kings_ , but it wasn’t that much of a stretch to say ‘ _his_ ’: Takao _was_ a member of the band, after all. Still, the pronoun rolled so pleasantly on his tongue, for reasons that had probably little to do with their professional positions) frowning at him in a way that Takao knew well. It usually meant trouble. Not that it mattered, anyway.

-          What’s the meaning of what, Shin-chan?

Midorima’s left eye twitched at the nickname and he gritted his teeth. The idiotic vocalist of the rock-band he was responsible of was lying stark naked in one of the bunk beds of the travelling bus. Which wouldn’t have been a real problem (though a bothersome occurrence, in Midorima’s honest opinion, because which proper person paraded around in their birthday suit in a restricted space they shared with others!?) had Takao not picked the _wrong_ mattress in his haste to get rid of his clothes. Midorima growled, his patience thinning to a very slim line.

-          Is there a reason you are naked in my bed??

Takao looked surprised for the tiniest moment, then the familiar, mischievous expression went back to his face and he grinned like the proverbial cat that ate the proverbial canary. Except that the result was far less charming than intended, because he was too wasted to keep it up. The thought was extremely funny. So much that he dissolved into a fit of giggles. Midorima seethed.

-          Are you _drunk_?!

It only made Takao laugh harder.

-          Oh my god, Shin-chan, are you really asking me _that_?!

Midorima’s comeback died on his lips as the _fool_ got tangled in his sheets and seemed to be highly amused by it, at least listening to his cackling. Midorima looked at Takao’s curled up form with a mixture of contempt, worry and only a pinch of tenderness. That laughter was infectious. And despite the obnoxiousness and the fooling around and the carefree attitude that more often than not bordered on careless, Takao was a genuine man, and a dedicated artist. His songs were beautiful. He was beautiful…

There was a loud crash coming from behind Midorima, and an even louder string of curses followed. Blood pounded against his temples and he closed his eyes, ready to murder someone on the spot. When he twirled around to lash out at the nearest victim, he met the calming eyes of his (again, the pronoun) drummer, Ootsubo. He was keeping a nearly passed-out Kimura upright with no little amount of effort. That left only one source for the swearing… Midorima paled, and Ootsubo’s smile was sympathetic.

-          I’ll deal with him, if you’re willing to let us off the hook this time.

A pineapple rolled threateningly towards their feet, accompanied by the sound of retching. There was no choice.

-          Deal.

Ootsubo relaxed.

-          Thanks.

As he and Kimura moved away towards the rest of the bunks, Midorima stayed still and looked at Takao. Ootsubo’s voice reached him from the end of the bus.

-          Please, don’t be mad at him. It’s not every day that we reach the top three!

-          He’s sleeping naked in my bed!

Just then, a sleepy moan caught his attention. Takao was hugging his pillow. More accurately, he was _cuddling_ it.

-          Smells like Shin-chan.

Midorima flushed. Takao pouted in his state of drunken sleep.

-          Sour and stiff like Shin-chan.

Midorima threw a blanket over him (anything to hide that indecency, it had nothing to do with keeping his singer warm for the night) and stormed off to Takao’s bunk bed, stole _his_ pillow and duvet and went to sit beside the driver, firmly decided to keep him company for most of the night.

He wouldn’t have slept anyway.


	8. "If you keep looking at me like that we won't make it to a bed" - MidoTaka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . Written for tumblr user leona-dracontis (as a birthday gift! ;) )  
> . Future!fic

The music played in the background and Takao’s feet swept the dance floor lightly. He loved that song. He loved it even more that night. He looked up through fairy lights to a face he’d come to known as his own, aged but still so alluring: time had been kind to his companion, sharpening his features but keeping them elegant and distinct. They moved as one with a grace that none of them, a decade before, would have believed possible. Even if, now that Takao thought about it properly, the signs had always been there, hadn’t they? His partner might have been a prickly and harsh thing, but he’d never lacked _grace_ : whenever he was in his element, a basketball court or in front of a grand piano, he moved with a fluidity that nobody suspected could belong to a person of his physique. Takao knew better, had always known better, and it made him feel extremely proud of himself and insanely happy: like having being picked to host a very important secret and treasure it and keep it safe from the rest of the world. And the best thing was, there were so many other secrets: the soft smiles, the loving looks, the kind gestures, the disarming honesty, the earnest, murmured words of devotion, the ingenuity, the trust. He had been chosen as their keeper and he was honoured to comply. 

He looked around absent-mindedly, a dreamy expression still on his face, and smiled wider at the sight of their closest friends and family, some of them stumbling on the dance floor much like he was, some huddled together around the small tables, some chatting near the open bar – all of them sporting matching beams that spoke of relaxation and closure and an undeniably good mood.

It was such a perfect atmosphere it made Takao’s heart swell and it was with that sentiment that he turned to face the visage he loved the most out of that lot. Out of any lot, actually.

-          If you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it to a bed…

He snickered.

-          Aw, come on, Shin-chan: it’s not really my fault, you know. I can’t really help it if I’m so enamoured with my _husband_. My dashing, too-good-looking-in-a-suit, husband. That I’m going to keep such a handsome, well-groomed, educated man for the rest of my life, it’s an overwhelming thought. I’m smitten.

Midorima choked at the words and moved to push up his glasses in a familiar gesture, but Takao was holding onto both of his hands tightly.

-          I mean it.

He received a smile at that, at last, one of those that made him thank the deities every day for having picked Shuutoku as a high-school, for having let go of an old grudge, for having not given up on the challenge that this wonder of a man had always proved to be.

And as if sensing his thoughts (he probably did, Takao mused), Midorima pressed his lips to his forehead and leaned his cheek to Takao’s temple. Someone around them wolf-whistled. It made them chuckle and Takao hugged his freshly declared husband tight and pushed all the unholy thoughts away in favour of savouring the moment.

The honeymoon could wait a little longer. They had the rest of their lives, after all.


	9. "I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified" - ShinAra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . Written for tumblr user moonycat.  
> . This takes place in the universe of "Ren’s*Flower", but it should work fine even without having read it.

Arakita is brewing coffee so early in the morning that he doesn’t even want to check the time. He remembers going to bed just a few hours ago (very few hours ago) and the sunrays filtering through the shutters are too dim to light up the tiny kitchenette properly. He really doesn’t want to know what time it is.  There’s a hungry Sasha meowing loudly at his feet and he can hear Usakicchi nibbling on some bunny-appropriate food Shinkai must have left for her before going to bed.

He opens the cupboard to retrieve his usual mug but doesn’t find it and stares, confused and still drunk from lack of sleep, at the empty spot where his and Shinkai’s cups are usually stored.

Shinkai had come home exhausted, last night, and had begged him to take care of the dishes, _just this once, please, Yasutomo_ – but Arakita hadn’t been listening, too busy coding on his laptop, and had just made a grunt of agreement in the general direction of his boyfriend, without paying any attention to what was asked of him.

He looks a bit to the left, towards the sink, and here they are: their cups and all the pots and cutlery they have accumulated in the last couple of days (not many, luckily, thank the heavens for weird shifts and take-away). He can rinse the cups quickly and have them ready for breakfast before the coffee is ready, he can use two spare glasses, for once – instead, he watches as his hands move on their own accord and open the cupboard again, moving Shinkai’s boxes of snacks aside and uncovering an old, chipped cup that belongs to Shinkai, who refuses to throw it away despite not using it anymore.

Arakita doesn’t like it, not because of the visible cracks on the red surface, but because he is the one that put them there, years before, in a fit of rage he still feels ashamed of. He hates thinking about that day: he doesn’t even remember _why_ he had lashed out so horribly, why he had smashed the red cup to the floor – he just knows that it was a stupid reason, that he had been blinded by his own idiocy and insecurities and that the breaking of the cup had actually been more an accident than a conscious attempt at pettiness, still, he had never felt more guilty over an outburst.

Shinkai’s voice doesn’t startle him only because Arakita has already picked up his lover’s footsteps and yawn.

-          I didn’t know we still had that cup.

Arakita looks at him from the side.

-          Not because of me. It was on your shelf of the cupboard, after all.

Shinkai shrugs, a gesture that could mean anything from an agreement to a dismissal.

-          Why is it out?

Arakita gestures towards the sink and hears Shinkai sigh while scratching his head. Arakita feels guilty again, but has no time to apologize for the still dirty dishes, because Shinkai turns his back to him and grabs a can of cat food from another shelf, opening it for Sasha. The cat meows in obvious satisfaction and digs in eagerly, while Shinkai discards the can with a low chuckle and bids Usakicchi good morning.

-          Ohi, Sorry for waking you.

Shinkai just smiles at him and shakes his head, though the circles under his eyes are a little darker than they were yesterday.

-          I wasn’t going to sleep much more anyway, don’t worry. By the way, I wouldn’t use that cup.

Arakita looks at it, puzzled.

-          Why?

Shinkai’s smile turns a bit sad while he pets Usakicchi’s head trough the bars of the box.

-          It never sealed properly. It leaks.

Arakita doesn’t know why it hurts so badly to hear it. He stares helplessly as Shinkai gets up and makes a quick job of washing both of their new, matching mugs with few practiced strokes and then sets them on the kitchen counter, ready to be used. Arakita still feels like he deserves a scolding for having not done his share of chores last night, and Shinkai’s silence and genuine lack of anger about his negligence only makes it worse, somehow.

It’s still Shinkai that turns the stove off when the coffee is done, and before Arakita can comment on that he finds himself engulfed in a warm, early-morning hug.

-          Remember what you told me, that time, while we were picking up the pieces from the floor together?

Of course Arakita does. It was at the very start of their relationship, things were still shaky between them as they did their best to adjust to one another and, most of all, the weight of their own feelings. He hides his face on Shinkai’s chest as the sound of his past self’s voice rings in his ears. “ _I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified_ ”. It had been the start of their joint life as it is now­ – and after the admission had been out they had cuddled and made out in their too small couch for the whole night.

Arakita lets Shinkai’s lips travel over his hair and forehead, enjoying the feeling. He takes advantage of his position to nibble on Shinkai’s chin and brush his cheeks on the short stubble there. Shinkai speaks in a whisper and Arakita, lost in his own purring, almost misses it.

-          Let’s throw that cup away.

-          Why?

-          Because we don’t need it anymore.

Arakita looks at it again and finds a bit of melancholic affection for the ugly thing, after all.

-          We could use it as a vase for that small cactus you received yesterday.

He feels Shinkai’s arms pulling him tighter into the embrace and Shinkai’s mouth curving in a smile on his neck.  


	10. "Wait a minute. Are you jealous?" - ShinAra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . Written for tumblr user moonycat.  
> . This takes place in the universe of "Exuviae" and it might be better to be acquainted with the setting to understand the dynamics. First chapter should be enough.  
> . It might also count as a tiny preview of the ShinAra prequel that is to come.

When Arakita brings him a clean futon and fresh laundry, Shinkai has already composed himself and put his clothes back on. The room has no windows to open and it hasn’t passed enough time for the smell of the most recent activities that took place in there to be dissipated. Shinkai wears a gentle smile on his face, he always does, and it reaches his eyes – even if the left one sports a purple bruise that is already swelling.

-          Thank you, Yasutomo.

Arakita doesn’t know what makes him angrier: the words, the smile, the kindness or the genuineness of them all. He doesn’t even know why he’s angry, since he has already witnessed this particular scene thrice since the afternoon – true, it’s the first time he’s seen Shinkai today, but even in his case it stopped being a novelty a long time ago. He has to admit that walking in the prostitutes’ rooms after their customers have walked out still makes him uncomfortable, yes, but there’s also _something_ about Shinkai’s attitude and behaviour towards his job that makes it ten times worse for Arakita. So, even if he’s aggressive and generally unpleasant with everyone (it’s what he’s paid to be: there is no use in their house for someone that coddles their sex workers), Shinkai is a special case.

-          What the fuck have you done to your face this time?

Shinkai just shrugs and leans back against the mattress.

-          Yamamoto-san was a bit more difficult than usual.

Arakita leaves the laundry in a corner and puts his hands on his hips.

-          Years spent in this fucking place and you still haven’t learned how to behave with your regulars.

Shinkai laughs a mirthless chuckle with closed eyes.

-          You’re right, Yasutomo.

-          Of course I am, dumbass.

*

The one good thing about Fukutomi Juichi is that he is incapable of lying or deceiving others. He’s the kind of man that doesn’t dance around subjects: because he doesn’t believe in turns of phrases and isn’t capable to string them together.

-          You are angrier than usual, today.

-          Well, you’re even more of a stone-face than usual, Fuku-chan, I’d say it’s worse.

-          Did something happen to Shinkai?

-          What?

-          I haven’t seen him this morning.

-          That idiot makes me mad, alright?! He and his stupid smile! What does he even have to smile for, when a fucking asshole uses him as a punching target!? Always acting like it’s nothing and welcoming them back with serene grace!

-          We do what we have to, Arakita. They all do.

-          But they _bitch_ about it all the time! They cry every night and curse the day they were born! I never heard him swear _once_!

-          He’s strong.

-          He’s a fucking moron! So dumb it make me want to punch him too, but then he’d only say I was justified and that it was probably his fault anyway and apologise to me! And at that point I’ll only get more furious and I’ll want to hit him more and then I’ll be to him just like everybody else!

_Wait a minute, are you jealous?_

-          What?

Fukutomi stares at him for long, silent seconds, then he gets up and walkes away with a nod, pulling his now empty cart along.

Arakita doesn’t know if it was really Fukutomi’s voice the one he heard speaking those words, or if it was his own mind supplying him with the right answers (or questions) for once. It freezes him nevertheless, the implications of such an epiphany raining over him and feeling like a shower of pointy needles.

 _Those down-turned eyes. That sad smile. That kindness. That naivety. Those dreams. That hope. That_ love _._

Arakita feels like laughing and crying at the same time. Mostly the latter.

*

That night, he brings Shinkai an extra blanket.

-          They say it’s going to be a cold week, and you have very bad sleeping habits.

Shinkai bends his head to the side, a little confused, but pleasantly so.

-          Thank you, Yasutomo.

Arakita sits down in front of him and serves himself a cup of cheap tea.

-          Why do you never get angry?

Shinkai takes a sip from his own cup. When he puts it down, his eyes look very different and for the first time Arakita understands where all those rumours about Shinkai being a Demon come from – and he has no trouble believing Fukutomi’s words about his friend’s ability to face the world and cope with it.

-          I am _always_ angry.

Arakita swallows, but he doesn’t look away.

-          Why don’t you let it out, then?

Shinkai’s expression shifts back to his usual one, but Arakita knows better now, and can still feel the impressive aura around him, still see the resilience behind those watery blue eyes.

-          What would even be the point, Yasutomo?

Arakita nods and feels his hands shaking a bit, the words from before still ringing in his ears. He swallows awkwardly and clears his throat, feeling all of a sudden extremely light, and extremely doomed. When he speaks, his voice isn’t as steady as he would have liked.

-          I am here, you fucking moron. I am right here in front of you, always.

Shinkai smiles like Arakita has never seen him do. It looks so real that all his other smiles are nothing in comparison. Arakita feels warm all of a sudden.

-          I know, Yasutomo. I’m very lucky to have you.


	11. "Is there a reason you are naked in my bed?" - AsaNoya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . Written for tumblr user cutiepiedork.  
> . This is my first time writing the pair, so be lenient please.

-          Is there a reason you are naked in my bed?

Nishinoya knows that he could say pretty much anything and Asahi will react in the same way: he will blush, he will stutter and then, anyway, he will believe him and accept Nishinoya’s absurd explanation, because that’s the way he is – good-natured and trusty to the bone. Well, that, and he’s also very well acquainted with Nishinoya’s penchant for unbelievable, absurd misadventures (the list of which would probably be taller than Nishinoya himself, hair included).

Still, there’s something very awkward in telling your crush: “ _We have huge history together and a hella strong bond, I believe you are the hottest, most attractive guy I’ve ever met, you’re so cute it makes me want to crawl into your shirt and tonight you looked so delicious after practice that I thought we should totally have sex, and since I’m a bit too intoxicated at the moment I took my clothes off and got into your bed in the hopes of seducing you, please jump on me or let me jump on you, I’m fine either way!_ ”.

There’s the evergreen: “ _Tanaka dared me to do it in retaliation for that time I dared him to put glue on Tsukishima’s headphones_ ” and the unconfutable “ _I’m quite drunk and picked the wrong room, sorry_ ” – but they sound more like a defeat than a retreat. So he stares wide-eyed at Asahi without saying a word, looking as lost and confused as Asahi does.

Surprisingly, it’s Asahi that breaks the spell, blushing as predicted and looking away. He touches his hair, still damp from the bath, sighs, and then bends over his bag to retrieve a spare t-shirt and a pair of shorts that he hands to Nishinoya. The clothes are so large he’s probably going to swim in them, but Nishinoya isn’t really in the position to refuse anything, especially when _Asahi_ is taking an initiative that doesn’t involve throwing him bodily out of his room. Well, not naked, at least.

-          Here. Scoot over.

Nishinoya’s brain blacks out.

-          What?

Asahi flushes scarlet.

-          Coach is around: it’s better if he doesn’t see you going back to your room in this state. Scoot over. We s-should both fit.

Nishinoya does, and has to use every drop of his willpower to _not_ scream when the massive weight of Asahi plops down beside him under the covers, too close for comfort and too good to be true.

In the span of a few minutes, Asahi’s breath evens (he really has gone all out during training, that day) and Nishinoya can turn around safely and stare at his back. After several moments of furious arguing with himself, he plasters himself to Asahi’s body from behind and decides that he will deal with the consequences tomorrow.

He never really _hoped_ for sex anyway. 


	12. "You're the only one I trust to do this" - MidoTaka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . Written for tumblr user tsukkidayo

The ball bounces heavily on the wooden floor and its sound echoes in the gym. Midorima lowers his arms and stares at the hoop, transfixed. _In_. He has felt it in his fingertips as soon as the ball has left his hands, of course, but it is, after all (and he would never admit it out loud, not even under torture), impossible to be sure of the outcome of a shot until you see the ball either going through the hoop or not. This one has gone in, though, and even if Midorima hadn’t already been looking at the ball, the howl of joy and loud laughter coming from his left would have given him a pretty neat idea of the success of the play.

They have been doing this in the privacy of the empty gym after practice for weeks, maybe even months, repeating the gestures again and again until Midorima felt safe with finishing the action and letting the ball leave his fingers. Until he held no doubts about the outcome of the shot. Until they were so in sync and used to each other’s rhythm that Midorima could turn every single one of Takao’s passes into a winning action. So far, they have mastered what Takao calls “ _a good trick for sideshow freaks_ ” and _don’t get me wrong, Shin-chan, I’m totally up for ditching high-school altogether and joining a circus and making a living out of entertaining kids at amusement parks – actually, I believe you and your Miracle crew should really consider showbiz as a potential career, there must be someone out there willing to pay good money to make you lot do your magic tricks – but don’t you think we could think of something useful to do with this_ thing _we have? Like, see if we can pull it off in games?_ Real _games? Maybe use it to_ win _them?_

Practice games at Shuutoku aren’t exactly ‘real’, not in the way Takao means, but at least they have real opponents, people that maybe cannot walk through the air, bend their spines at impossible angles and still score or have the wingspan of a pterodactyl, but they’re still good enough for Takao to _not_ have to imagine blocks and screens and make up counter-plays. And what was the coach thinking, splitting the regulars in two different teams and basically setting Midorima and Takao against everybody else? Miyaji-san is _vicious_ …

Still, the ball has gone in and the gym has fallen silent except for Takao’s celebrations and the high-five he forces Midorima into. He’s pretty sure the expression on their fellow first-years’ faces can be described as “ _awe_ ” and it mirrors the one sported by the veterans, even those who believe it was a matter of sheer luck. Fate or not, it’s not the kind of thing you happen to see every day. Not very often, at least, not even with a Miracle on the team that can shoot successfully from the whole court.

-          What the flying fuck was that?!

It’s Miyaji-san, but the younger one, and he almost immediately slaps a hand over his mouth, hoping that the coach hasn’t heard him. Pretty pointless, since they could have heard a fly in such silence. Not that Takao cares, anyway.

-          Ahah! We call it “ _Sky Direct 3P Shot_ ”! (“ _Stop using that ridiculous name, Takao_!” – is Midorima’s only contribution)

The ruckus could go on for ages if Nakatani himself didn’t step on the court and address Midorima directly, while putting a hand on takao’s head.

-          Can you do it during an official match?

Midorima adjusts his glasses and nods, while Takao smirks it off before realizing what he’s saying.

-          That’s the whole point of it, coach, ain’t exactly for shits and giggles!

He gets to run extra laps with Miyaji-san (the younger) for language, but it was worth it.

When his punishment is over and he goes back to the gym to get changed and go home for good, he finds Midorima waiting for him with a basketball in hand.

-          Ah. Thought you were done for today, Shin-chan. Hasn’t Mabo squeezed you enough making you practice with all the point-guards we had to spare?

Makishima throws him the ball and doesn’t even falter as he answer.

-          You are the only one I trust to do this.

Takao catches the ball without effort, sighs and bounces it on the gym floor, following Midorima inside until they are in their regular starting position. Looks like practice isn’t going to end anytime soon, today.

Whatever. Watching their shots go in flawlessly, play after play, is the best way to end a long day, after all.

-          Aye! Then let’s do this, Ace-sama!


	13. A Sad Kiss - MidoTaka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested from tumblr user joudan-janai for the Sweet Affectionate Moments meme.
> 
> MidoTaka - prompt #14: A Sad Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a year since I took these but perhaps I finally got a grip on my life and decided I was kind of ready to write them. More will come in the next days, for this pairing and several others.  
> I'm sorry for the wait.

It’s a happy moment, it definitely is.

Because it doesn’t happen every day that your significant other graduates with top marks at the most prestigious and demanding university of the country, and in _Medicine_ on top of that.

It also doesn’t happen every day that said significant other is willing to let some of that happiness show, and to share it with his friends.

It doesn’t happen every day that he admits to think of his former teammates as _friends_ , and that, at the end of the day, he enjoys every frustrating hour they manage to spend together _immensely_.

It doesn’t even happen every day that the already mentioned former teammates turn out to be very keen on unanimously show back some of that affection and look honestly happy for both the impromptu reunion and the reason behind it.

If _that_ isn’t a sign of growing up, Kazunari wouldn’t know what else could be.

What doesn’t happen every day, too, is to be on the other side of the country when all of the above goes down, because you are a promising freelance photographer – and when your boss calls you last-minute to be his right-hand on the kind of job that launches careers, you just can’t say _no_ to him, even if it means missing your boyfriend’s big day, and feeling shit about it.

It doesn’t help, not really, that Shintarou has repeatedly told him to go, that _it was fine_.

*

The thing with Shintarou is: he is awful at hiding his true feelings and pretending he doesn’t care – when he very much _does_ ; and if it’s Kazunari he’s talking to, then there is simply no game, because Kazunari has always been able to read him like an open book, hawk-eye or not. So when it all went down, a couple of days before the flight, Kazunari knew Shintarou meant every word, and in the most sincere way possible, but he also knew Shintarou was hurting like hell. To be honest, he was, too.

He still is, because when he looks at all the candid shots Kise has been sending him out of pure friendship and the poorly taken group pictures Momoi insists on forcing all of them into, Kazunari’s one and only thought is “ _I should be there, too_ ”.

He’s pretty sure he’s not imagining the perpetual empty spot at Shintarou’s side, which is inadvertently there, in every image, even when Shintarou’s little sister throws herself in his arms, or Akashi stands proudly at Shintarou’s left, and they’re uncharacteristically relaxed and serene and comfortable in their renewed friendship.

Kazunari had to take the chance of a lifetime, Shintarou was extremely vocal about him accepting the job and no matter how many times he mulls over the situation, trying to look at it from different perspectives, Kazunari can’t really come up with a scenario in which, in the long run _not boarding_ that plane would have been the best decision. Perhaps, in this light, the heart-wrenching sense of guilt that he feels in his bones is just karma acting out to balance his professional successes.

He just wishes Shintarou didn’t have to be caught up in it.

Which is probably why their first kiss after Kazunari gets home tastes so much like regret and an apology, to him – and he really would like to cling to Shintarou and tell him how much he loves him for the rest of the day, to make it even.

   -    I’m sorry I missed out on all of that.

   -    It’s alright. How was the job?

It’s almost unbearable, because _that_ went as good as it could: his boss told him he was amazing, and it might mean that he has truly made it this time. And he can’t stand that in order to do so he had to let Shintarou down, because he knows his boyfriend better than anyone else in the world, and has also known for ages that letting him down is probably one of the worst things one could do to Shintarou.

*

Kazunari kisses him again, fully aware that this is just the beginning, that for the very nature of their respective careers they will miss out on a lot of other important things. It’s the adult life, but it doesn’t make it any less sad.

Still, they are kissing behind their front door, not wanting to let go, so maybe, all in all, they’re still agreeing on what matters the most – and at the end of the day, _that_ is the only thing that counts..


	14. A First Kiss - MidoTaka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested from tumblr user einemelodieimwind, for the Sweet Affectionate Moments Meme.
> 
> #8 - A First Kiss - MidoTaka

It happens towards the end of their third year of high-school and it’s one of those catalyst moments that one is bound to remember for their whole life.

It is, at the same time, a huge earthquake at the foundation of their relationship and its own natural culmination. It’s the release of a growing, not fightable urge and the final expression of something that has always been there. It’s scary, and wrong, and it feels a bit like jumping off of a bridge. It’s also familiar, and right and sweet, and like knowing that there’s a bungee jumping cord strapped to your ankles.

It’s almost as cliché as it can get, because exams are finished, graduation is just around the corner and they’re passing time shooting hoops in a gym the technically aren’t allowed into anymore, having already retired from the basketball club. Still, nobody in the whole school would have the nerve to deny them access to the court and balls, not after they brought Shutoku where it stands now.

There’s the usual banter, and light-hearted teasing, and moves practiced so many times that their bodies shift on their own accord. They don’t want to break a sweat, though: it’s mostly that, lately, spending time together makes them feel unnaturally restless and tense, and since the option of passing those free hours apart is simply unconceivable, having something to do with their hands although lazily and with little purpose, does indeed help a bit.

Takao’s voice echoes in the empty gym, his laughter mingling  with the bounces of the ball on the heavy floor. These days, Takao’s loquacity has reached levels that Midorima didn’t believe possible. It’s a bit weird, because Takao seems to manage just fine in class or around other people, but the moment they’re alone together there’s no stopping him not his mouth, and the air around them is perpetually filled with idle chatter. Midorima misses their companionable silences, sometimes, but he doesn’t say anything. Actually, he hasn’t been talking much at all, lately, and he can’t really explain why. It kind of feels like it would be pointless, that he wouldn’t really say the things he’d like to, anyway, so why bother. Not that he _knows_ what he’d like to say, of course. But that’s the sensation he gets, sometimes, and it almost sends him back to a time, three years prior, where speaking his mind (or trying to make himself heard) had fallen to deaf ears. He’d rather not repeat the experience.

There are mentions of university, and a future beyond Shutoku, and MIdorima is aware of the way his whole body reacts to those topics, a numb coldness spreading from his stomach through his muscles. He is also aware that when his state of mind is so vulnerable, bordering on panic, he’s prone to be impulsive and stop reasoning. Takao is never still when his tongue bests him and he breaches subjects best left untouched: he’s always on the move, always ready to bolt away, always ahead of any possible confrontation, of any possible unwanted response.

This time is no different, and words of good university basketball teams are left hanging as Takao laughs, the last syllables off and walks to the corner to put away the balls he has retrieved. They both fall to the floor, though, because the moment Takao feels the ghost-like touch of five fingertips at the back of his shirt, he loses control of his body, and fear drowns him. He manages to turn around only because in the last three years there is just one person that he has allowed to be seen by, in such a state; just one person that he has actively opened up to and just one person that he has sought out when feeling in any kind of distress – and that person is standing right behind him.

It only takes Takao a look to see and understand that MIdorima is just as scared as he is, and from that point onward, it’s just a matter of reading each other and be truly honest with themselves. Midorima has already reached for him, his hand still somehow hanging between them, and Takao knows the next move is on him. He can’t force himself to smile and be reassuring, because he’s so terrified that he could faint, but he can try and do his part, because they’re a team of their own, always have been, and Midorima is already doing so much by allowing Takao to look at his bare face when he’s feeling vulnerable, and make of it what Takao wants. So, Takao takes a step forward, one small enough for them to be closer than average, but still not touching. He looks up at Midorima, and something in the latter’s face looks like an invitation to move his hands upwards and cup Midorima’s face and rise up on his toes. His palms end up somewhere between Midorima’s shoulders and neck, because Midorima meets him halfway, which kind of makes Takao want to run away in sheer terror, and cry in relief at the same time. The best compromise would be to collapse and sag backwards, but there are hands on his back, shy yet firm enough to support him, which is such a Midorima-ike stance that he feels like laughing.

It is just a tiny touch of lips and it ends as quickly as it began, but Takao drags Midorima down with him a bit. Mostly because it is suddenly hard to let go of everything, so even if their mouths parted, Takao isn’t really ready to pull his hands away from Midorima. It might be the irrational fear of seeing Midorima make a run for the door, or the very rational desire of having him closer, when Takao needs him the most. Midorima looks at him sporting the same bewildered, overwhelmed expression and it would be so comical, if it wasn’t also a pivotal moment in their relationship, and life. Takao swallows when Midorima brushes his fingers against his hands and looks like he’s fighting the urge to hold them. When Midorima’s face opens up in a desperately questioning expression and he bends down a bit, arms spreading unconsciously, Takao throws caution to the wind and latches onto his neck. He can feel Midorima’s heart beating wildly, and his warmth through the thin t-shirt he uses for practice. He can smell him too, and all of a sudden Midorima’s shoulder seems the best place he could rest his head on. He giggles.

    -    What’s so funny?

    -    If you straightened up while we’re like this, my feet would get off the ground.

Takao is still imagining the scene when Midorima does indeed straighten his back and lifts him up like it’s no effort – it is – and it sends Takao into a fit of excited laughter.

All of a sudden, the mood is back to normal, to how it was before tension and insecurities crippled them, because that’s just the effect that Takao’s laughter has on people, and the one that Midorima’s has on Takao.

There is still a lot to be scared about, so much need to get serious and really talk this through, because this changes _everything_ \- but for a single moment, while they’re still alone and together in their silent, sunlit gym, there is time to breathe in synch and let their hearts find a new rhythm.

There’s a second kiss at one point, that Takao is sure he has initiated, and when his feet touch the wooden floor again and he can really look up at Midorima properly, he realizes that the answers are somehow already there.

And that the whole exchange has been much more silent than he would have thought possible, but then again: they’re standing on the basketball court, and when on earth have they ever needed _words_ to communicate there?


	15. Cuddling - MidoTaka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested from tumblr user einemelodieimwind, for the Sweet Affectionate Moments Meme.
> 
> #19 - Cuddling - MidoTaka

Kazunari wakes up feeling warm and safe and content, not remembering when was the last time it had happened. He doesn’t open his eyes, yet, and enjoys the little game of finding out the position he’s currently in by hearing and touching alone. He saves the most obvious thing for last, wanting to devote it his full attention, and thus takes in the heavy duvet he’s cocooned underneath, the soft mattress, the pillow he’s only half-way lying on, the sweet ache in his hips – that he had thoroughly missed.

_That_ brings him back to the start, and to the thing he can’t pretend to ignore anymore because it’s everywhere, inside and around him, and he wouldn’t want it any other way. Kazunari breathes in and almost hums at the familiar smell, hands roaming on their own accord and travelling lightly over its source. There’s a low, steady thumping sound somewhere near his ear, and the even rhythm of a quiet breathing coming from above his head, caressing his hair every now and then. The chest he’s loosely wrapped around moves accordingly, and that’s probably the best sensation of all. It’s a tie with the heavy arm around his own shoulder, probably, and he smiles into the fabric under his mouth. He wouldn’t have minded meeting bare skin with his lips, but he guesses Shintarou wasn’t wrong in suggesting sleeping with at least their pants and t-shirts on. Especially if the pants and t-shirt in question are the grey, designer ones Kazunari gifted him on his last birthday, and that make Kazunari’s mouth water.

He opens his eyes at last, blinking twice with a soft sigh and shifting slightly in his boyfriend’s sleepy embrace: the red numbers on Shintarou’s alarm-clock tell him it’s barely past nine in the morning – on a normal day, they would have both been already up for some time but, luckily or not, this is not exactly a normal day. The shutters are half-down, but Kazunari knows they’re snowed in, because the storm has been going on and off for the whole week, and last night it took a definite turn for the worse.

Which is also why their house is currently hosting a big chunk of what Kazunari refers to as the _Skittle Squad_ and their partners, and the reason Kazunari is so determined to _not_ move from his personal haven. Said haven, all of a sudden, caresses his hair and face while blinking awake – and Kazunari marvels at the sight because, _damn_ , he has missed this _a lot_. He kisses Shintarou’s jaw and cheek, and it’s a testament to how special the moment is that Shintarou, so anal when morning breath is involved, accepts it meekly and smiles at it a bit, going so far as to brush his own lips against Kazunari’s closed eyelids and hairline, tightening his embrace. Kazunari can’t keep his hands still, especially now that Shintarou is awake and Kazunari doesn’t have to control himself in order to let his boyfriend get the sleep he deserves: he lets his palms wander over Shintarou’s chest and back, travel down his sides and bare legs, stills them at Shintarou’s ribcage and feels its lulling rise and fall. They touch noses and foreheads, shift their legs around to accommodate each other better, drift in and out of sleep on top of one another. Neither speaks, but there’s no need to: no pressing matters for that day, at least, and no discussion that requires verbal communication.

Kazunari isn’t too keen on getting up at all, for once, although their role as hosts will soon need them to: it’s been so long since he has had Shintarou purring into his arms without having to worry about the time that he feels almost cheated on by the universe and rather annoyed at the large group currently camped all over their house.

*

It’s not exactly those guys’ fault, anyway, because from the little Kazunari has picked up they had already been stuck into a small gym after a basketball match and tried to take advantage of the one day with clear weather to rush home, grabbing groceries in a haste and either taking shelter at Kagami’s or dropping to their respective houses, if they managed. Obviously, the majority of them didn’t, but nobody could have foreseen that Kagami’s faithful van would have dropped dead six blocks away from Kazunari and Shintarou’s house. And none of them could have predicted that the forecast had got it wrong and the snow would have picked up again so soon and with such intensity. Kazunari had just come back from a mall-raid himself, when he had spotted them on the side-walk and invited them in, dog included. At least, they had had the decency of bringing the food with them, or Kazunari wouldn’t have been able to feed them at all.

That had been two days before, and Kazunari had welcomed them with open arms. For starters, you didn’t turn your back on friends when there was a snowstorm causing trouble in the whole city and, more importantly, Shintarou had been blocked inside the hospital he worked at for four days straight, for the very same reason, and Kazunari was starting to feel lonely. Not to mention a bit worried, but he’d guessed that during a storm there had to be worse places to get stuck into than the biggest, best-equipped hospital of the city, at a time when many doctors couldn’t reach their workplace and thus the ones available had to take over, effectively doubling their paid-hours. Still, he had wished for Shintarou to come home, and accepted the distraction provided by Kuroko and his gang loudly.

Things had taken an unexpected turn when, the following day (so, last night), Shintarou had appeared in their doorstep seemingly out of nowhere, frozen cold and on the verge of passing out in exhaustion. Kazunari had listened half-heartedly as Shintarou mumbled about his substitute surgeon finally arriving and taking over, about the kind offer of a ride on one of the army’s well-equipped vans that he had received from a soldier whose son he had patched up – from the moment his boyfriend had stepped inside the house, all Kazunari had been thinking about was latching onto him until they merged into a single unit. All of a sudden, their home felt far too packed. It actually _was_ packed, with seven guests and an overgrown dog, but everyone had seemed to catch up on the fact that Midorima’s comfort and need for rest had become the house priority, and thus gave them room. Nobody had faulted Kazunari for his selfishness when he had unceremoniously kicked Kuroko and Nigou out of the main bedroom and locked himself and Shintarou in for the night.

*

Something like twelve hours later, they’re still inside and still tightly wrapped around each other. There’s a pleasant, thoroughly missed, soreness in Kazunari’s lower back and hips that wasn’t there when they went to bed and for which he has literally begged Shintarou last night. Luckily, desire and four days of forced abstinence had won over a house full of guests. Kazunari thinks about their latest activities as he palms Shintarou’s butt through the underwear and nuzzles his stomach, mouthing Shintarou’s muscles over the shirt and breathing in. He looks up with a soft smile, fully expecting to find a vibrant green eye peeking sleepily at him. He beams more openly and scoots upwards, hugging Shintarou tighter and yet feeling it’s still not enough, even when his boyfriend’s arms envelope him and long familiar fingers slide through his hair without tripping over a single knot. Kazunari snickers, because he’s just that happy, and is made even more so by the low chuckle that shakes Shintarou’s chest, by the dry lips pressed onto his forehead.

   -     Breakfast?

He buries his face in Shintarou’s shoulder and asks anyway, even if his body betrays him and his stomach let’s out a quiet growl.

   -     Don’t wanna.

Shintarou nips his nose and Kazunari has yet to grow fully accustomed to this openly affectionate side of his boyfriend. It only comes out in the privacy of their home for now, but it’s still enough to make Kazunari’s blood rush.

  -     Well, I do.

  -     Kagami cooks.

   -     I think they’re all still asleep.

   -     Because you’re too used to wake up at the break of dawn. Stay here, babe.

He wouldn’t make it with such a pet name on a normal day, but Shintarou is too tired and comfortable and content to even tease him. He opts, instead, for another round of languid caresses and sweet kisses, and Kazunari kind of hates himself for being so weak to Shintarou’s hands and fingers and falling asleep again.

When he opens his eyes once more, he’s sure that it hasn’t passed too much time, but Shintarou’s side of the bed is empty. There’s no point in sleeping in if Shintarou is not there beside him, so Kazunari makes the effort ofputting on sweatpants and a shirt and drags himself to the bathroom to brush his teeth. The house is silent, with the occasional, soft snore that he’s sure is coming from Kise, but bright. When he walks in the kitchen, Kazunari is greeted by the smell of tea and by the beloved sight of a very relaxed Shintarou leaning on the windowsill, steaming cup cradled in his palms, and glancing at the fat snowflakes that are _still_ falling.

It’s not the bright green eyes that move Kazunari almost to tears, nor the small smile on Shintarou’s lips or his casual stance: it’s the unzipped hoodie covering his hair but revealing his body, it’s the fact that there are no slippers on his feet but only thick socks. It’s the unguarded attitude of a man so comfortable in his environment to open up completely. It’s the casual certainty of a human that feels safe in his own home, without fussing, just so naturally. Kazunari walks towards him as Shintarou opens his own arms, and sighs on his breastbone. Again, there’s the feeling of fingers near his ear, and lips at his hairline.

   -     Who are you, and what have you done to my Shin-chan?

A few years ago, such a comment would have make Shintarou tense and stutter. Right now, it only makes him raise a perfectly (and naturally) groomed eyebrow.

   -     Mh?

A soft snicker and Kazunari mouths Shintarou’s collarbone.

   -     Amazing sex… cuddling in the kitchen… with a house full of people?

A kiss.

   -     I missed you.

Another.

   -     I missed you too.

He had almost forgotten how good it felt to rub his cheeks against Shintarou’s stubble. To be lulled by his deep baritone.

   -     Besides, they’re all sleeping.

   -     Actually, Kuroko has been lingering outside the kitchen door for a while, now.

_That_ manages to make Shintarou go stiff. Kazunari only hugs him tighter and laughs.

   -     Good morning Takao-kun. Midorima-kun.

To Kazunari’s surprise, Shintarou doesn’t let him go and only finishes his tea.

   -     Should we start some coffee?

Kuroko smiles, and nods.

   -     I’ll wake Kagami-kun. He cooks the best breakfast.

Kazunari presses another kiss to Shintarou’s cheek. To his mirth, Shintarou doesn’t flinch, nor rolls his eyes: he pets his hair instead, and without even batting an eye as he addresses Kuroko directly, again.

   -     We would appreciate it. Thank you.

Kuroko walks out, scratching his bed-head, and Kazunari can’t reign in his smile. Shintarou is torn between staying blinded by its brightness or kiss Kazunari’s dimples.

   -     I love you?

Kazunari throws his arms around Shintarou’s neck and giggles as Shintarou moves the two of them around to place his empty cup on the counter. Laughter bubbles in Kazunari’s chest when he hears familiar voices approaching the kitchen and Shintarou still does not even attempt to dislodge him or let him go.

   -     I love you too.


	16. A promise - Eruri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by tumblr user einemelodieimwind, for the Sweet Affectionate Moments Meme.
> 
> #21 - A promise - Eruri

Levi had never been naïve enough to believe that they would have made it out of the war alive.

That, ultimately, humanity would have found a way to win? Yes, _that_ he might have conceded.

That he and Erwin would have been there to enjoy the show? Not at all.

It was true that if you’d been recognized as Humanity’s Strongest, if you were the terrific Commander of the Survey Cops, there was a high chance that the odds might have been slightly more in your favour on the field – but it mattered little in the grand scheme of things, because taking part in _every_ mission, facing _every_ danger, staying on the front line _every_ time, in the long run only meant that you were much more likely to commit a mistake and _not_ get lucky. And lucky, they had been, many times. So when they weren’t anymore, it didn’t really come as a surprise.

Still, it didn’t feel right to stand knee-deep in cold, salted water and stare at the endless blue waves, alone. It was a promise Levi had never wanted to maintain. He did, in the end, because that was just who he was, and because when you are the hero of a bloody war everyone wants to forget about, chances are they want to forget about you too; and having something, anything to pull you out of bed in the morning is fundamental to figure out what purpose you need to give to your life from now on. The effort is double when you’ve grown accustomed to having someone by your side, making those decision for everyone around himself, you included, all the time.

It’s not that Levi had never thought about either of them dying, because he’s known from the start that they would have. He had also taken into account the likelihood of surviving Erwin: he might have fought his hardest to ensure it didn’t happen, but he had also made peace with the possibility. What he hadn’t foreshadowed was the occurrence of living without Erwin _on the long term_ , in a world finally free of  Titans. Which brought him back to a white shore, deep waters shimmering under the sun and a salty breeze ruffling his hair. And the sickening feeling of having hit yet another huge wall, probably the sturdiest he’d ever encountered, one he wasn’t sure could ever be torn down.

It takes every ounce of his self-control to not look up at his left side and say “ _Ohi, Erwin. I’ve won the war, I’ve put my feet in the ocean. What, now?_ ”. It’s stupid, and self-damaging, but he does twist his head upwards in that familiar way that always made him meet Erwin’s gaze, and seeing nothing but empty air makes him gag. He realizes he hasn’t mourned, not really, and wonders if the rampant hollowness he feels inside is actually just the need to weep for the loss of his loved one. He also realizes they never actually named what was going on between them or labelled it ‘love’, so he questions his choice of words. Still, he doesn’t cry. It seems pointless, since it won’t change anything, and he isn’t even sure it would help him to feel better. Hard to, when he has troubles understanding what he _does_ feel, in the first place. Nothing, by the likes of it. In a total different way from the focused, clear-minded detachment he has imposed on himself for his whole life. That was a mean to survive, this is what is left after managing to do so. And it looks a lot like a wasteland.

A seagull screeches  from somewhere above his head and Levi’s first thought is that he would have liked Erwin the hear that. And that he would have liked Erwin to feel the sand under his feet, something that Levi finds a little too bothersome to be enjoyable, but that he’s sure Erwin would have liked a lot. Erwin would also have liked to take a dip in those cool waters, while Levi feels extremely wary of anything that he can’t see the bottom of, and also of what could lie in such depths. Erwin would have breathed in at full lung and felt revitalized by the iodized air, the lull of the waves, the scorching sun; Levi can feel his skin getting dry and burned, his hair sticky, and he wishes the shore was a more _silent_ place. Erwin would have loved the golden sparkle of the beach and the immensity of that blue. Levi finds it hard to tolerate, because the truth is that everything around him is screaming ‘ _Erwin_ ’ right to his face, and he can’t stand it.

He can’t stand the fact that had Erwin stood beside him, full of wonder, Levi would have been able to appreciate the ocean, too.

He can’t stand to think that the sea is exactly as Erwin hoped it would be.

He can’t stand to be in the middle of it, fulfilling a promise and yet failing to do it completely.

He grips the bolo tie that he has started wearing as a talisman since that day, feels Erwin’s cape flutter in the breeze behind his back and tries to find peace in what looks like a last, private farewell. He should turn his back on this landscape that looks so much like the man he loved and take it as closure, but he finds himself unable to. There’s a low rumble beneath the loudest splashes of the waves which is the only thing that can lull him to sleep, nowadays. There’s a smell in the air that sets that little corner of the world apart from any other place Levi has set foot on in his life, and thus prevents him from getting sudden flashbacks. From thinking about Titans, altogether. There is privacy, and a small village close enough to have the comforts of civilization, far enough from his side of the Capital to host people that might know or recognize him.

Levi steps out of the water, thinking that one day he will probably wake up to a heart that would have started beating again. That he’ll open his eyes and see the beauty in front of him for what it really is. That he’ll stop feeling awfully torn for having been able to fulfil a promise.

One day.

At least, that’s what they say.

For now, he rests.


	17. "Things you said when you were crying" - MidoTaka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous request from the "Things You Said..." meme.
> 
> Prompt #8: "Things you said when you were crying" - MidoTaka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon!verse.  
> Takes place after the Shutoku vs Rakuzan match.

\- I’m sorry.

Takao almost misses it, but they’re sitting back to back in the locker rooms and it’s just the two of them left; _that_ , and Takao is always acutely aware of Midorima, so it doesn’t matter that they both have a towel over their head and that his extremely reserved friend probably didn’t mean for that comment to be heard at all, Takao catches it anyway. And, being Takao, doesn’t let it go.

\- For what?

He expects an awkward stiffness, but there’s no sound giving proof of it, so Takao has to accept that maybe Midorima _did_ want to deliver the message. If he wasn’t so awfully beaten up by the game they just played and miserably lost, Takao would act more surprised and thoughtful: this is exactly the kind of behaviour that leaves him at a loss and a bit unsure of who, precisely, he’s interacting with. Midorima doesn’t walk out of his well-defined schemes often and, when he does, it’s with that awkward demeanour that underlines how uncomfortable it makes him feel. The fact that they’re not looking at each other and that Takao is clearly not in the mood to make fun of him might help Midorima quite a lot. Along with the raw disappointment and unfiltered vulnerability that they are sharing at the moment. When you have already given up on controlling your emotions, dropping yet another barrier is not much of a big deal anymore.

\- Failing all of you.

A new wave of tears overcomes Takao before he can even think of saying anything in return. Earlier, he told Midorima he was in no shape or mood to cheer Midorima up, and the statement still stands, but hearing Midorima sound so wrecked and pathetic as Takao feels, and so self-deprecating on top of that, adds a considerable layer of guilt to the mix. An arrogant Midorima, Takao can deal with. A fretting, embarrassed one, too. A sad one, not so much.

In this particular case, Takao has to stop himself in order to sort out his own thoughts: there’s a part of him, the mean one, the bitter one that never really got over the humiliation Midorima and his team of assholes inflicted on him in middle-school, that is ready to agree with Midorima on that last statement and spit out that YES, DAMN RIGHT YOU FAILED US! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE A FREAK OF NATURE AT THIS GODDAMN SPORT AND HOW COME THAT WHEN SHIT GETS REAL IT LOOKS LIKE WE’RE ALWAYS ON THE LOSING SIDE?! GENIUS MY ASS!

There’s also a part of him that resonates with Midorima’s pain, because Takao knows, too, what it’s like to feel like a good-for-nothing, and a failure. And to feel sympathy (even _empathy_ ) for a _Miracle_ is extremely confusing in itself. The thing is: Midorima works harder than anybody else. Shutoku is famous for its take on discipline, and Midorima honours that philosophy more than any other student Takao has encountered so far. It only takes a look at the court to understand that basketball comes as naturally to Midorima as breathing, that he has a huge, genuine talent he was born with, that genetics favoured him and gave him an exceptional advantage on most of his peers, but to see the amount of effort and hard work that goes into keeping up with the title surely helps to put the whole ‘Miracle’ thing into perspective. Takao has seen Midorima train as fiercely as anybody else on the team, watched him run after practice, stay behind to improve his stamina, shoot so many threes from every square meter of their gym that Takao had trouble to believe they were the same age. Or belonged to the same species.

He is aware that Midorima has gone beyond expectations while being so openly _tangible_ , and _real_ , and _approachable_ (at least for Takao), that he has grown to be a force to be reckoned with, a player in front of which Takao would cower, were they to be on opposite teams – so when even _that_ is not enough, and their team crumbles, and he sees and hears Midorima shoulder the weight of his role as the ace while giving more on the court than it should have been requested of him, there really is no point in blaming _him_ for _their_ loss. It’s actually the last thing that Takao feels like doing.

It’s true that pretty much only a Miracle can stop a Miracle, but Rakuzan is not made of five Akashi Seijurous.

\- We failed you too.  
\- I couldn’t beat Akashi.  
\- We couldn’t beat Rakuzan.

They’re still looking ahead of them, avoiding every contact.

\- You said that we’re a team, didn’t you? Then we are a team. We actually are. And it’s the team’s fault we lost. Which means it is your fault _too_ , but it’s not _only_ your fault. It’s also mine and everyone else’s. We weren’t strong enough.

Silence.

\- We can be, though.

They’ve just had their asses handed to them in very ugly way, and although Takao is extremely good at motivating himself and others, if anything out of pure spite, at the moment he’s so damn frustrated and _tired_ that he’s definitely _not_ in the mood for this kind of pep-talk. He gets up swiftly and turns around, slams the towel on the bench without caring for the fact that he’s still crying out of reflex, and comes face to face with an already standing Midorima (when did he move?), whose eyes are still wet as well.

There’s gravity in their gazes and takao wonders if they’re having a moment.

He’s ready to snap, but surprisingly Midorima doesn’t give him time.

\- Mistakes can be fixed and weaknesses reduced. We can improve our physical prowess, our game-sense, schemes and techniques. We can obtain better knowledge of our opponents. We can exploit our talents and raise our guards on our vulnerabilities. We can learn. We can try again. We can grow.

It sounds so fucking weird coming from the mouth of someone whose first contact with loss and failure happened a bunch of months before.

\- Don’t you fucking want to tear your hair out, beat the shit out of fucking Akashi and never play basketball, like, _ever again_?!

They look at each other breathing hard. The answer is unexpected.

\- Yes.  
\- Then _why_ are you sounding like our old man Nabo giving us his consolation talk?!  
\- Because I could waste time overthinking everything and acting irresponsibly on the wave of conflicting emotions, or I could channel that energy into something useful and that I actually enjoy.

Takao has the feeling they’re wandering into very personal territory and that there’s a not-so-nice untold story in between Midorima’s lines, but he can’t pry further.

\- You enjoy being made a fool of on the court?  
\- I enjoy playing basketball with _my team_.

Midorima moves to walk out of the locker-room on his own and Takao is both appalled and kind of scared at the same time. He’s not sure what he’s going to say, but he senses that letting Midorima go alone would be a huge mistake. He throws himself in front of the door and stops Midorima, looking at the floor.

\- You break down with me, pull yourself together and admit being an emotional wreck while giving me the kind of speech you said you weren’t in the mood for. You open up on a slip of the tongue and run away, all armoured-up and prickly and solemnly alone. _Shin-chan_ – and he bends forward until his forehead leans on Midorima’s breast – how many times did you give yourself these motivational speeches?

Midorima tenses up, and a moment later Takao understands that he’s choking back a sob.

\- A few.

Takao reaches up to hug him loosely. There’s a brief pause, the Midorima rests his head on top of Takao’s. Takao wonders if they’ve gone at this the wrong way from the start.

\- I can’t do this alone.

And that is the core of the matter, isn’t it? That they’re both sick and tired of telling themselves to be strong, but maybe there’s some kind of magic behind trying to be strong _together_ , one that makes even the prospect of losing again a little bit less appalling.

\- You’re not alone, Shin-chan. Neither of us is.

The sigh of relief it steals from Midorima is everything Takao needs to hear.

He doesn’t dwell on the fact that they’ve both managed to cheer each other up right after stating that they wouldn’t have.


	18. "Things you said while I cried in your arms" - MidoTaka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous request for the "Things You Said..." meme.
> 
> Prompt #31 - "Things you said while I cried in your arms" - MidoTaka

\- You know you cannot blame yourself, right?  
\- I c-  
\- Shintarou.

The light is dim and the room is silent, except for ragged breathing and the occasional rustling of fabric. The air is heavy with half-spoken words and conflicting feelings, a hood of sadness, guilt and helplessness. It stems from Shintarou, because losing patients sometimes does that to him, and from Kazunari as well, because seeing his lover in such a state without being able to help is close to unbearable.

It would be wrong to say that Shintarou doesn’t accept the chance of people dying under his hands, or care: at this point in his life and career as a surgeon, he has seen too many emergencies and desperate cases to be hit so personally by every one of them. There are exceptions, though, because that’s what life does, after all: it sweeps the carpet from under your feet at the most unexpected times, and while there are days in which you manage to keep your balance, or grab the nearest wall and stay upright, or hold onto a crutch, there are instances in which gravity is just too strong, the wall is just too slippery or not close enough, your crutches give out too. And sometimes it’s your fault for miscalculating the distance, for leaning on them in the wrong way, but there are times in which there is simply nothing you can do.

For someone of Shintarou’s mentality, those are the worst cases.

When you have built your own life around the concept of _always_ being prepared, _always_ thinking ahead, _always_ doing your best (because that is what, ultimately, will bend even Fortune to your favour), accepting that Lady Fortune is a stone-cold, blind bitch is nothing less than devastating. If you believe that Fate does indeed reward effort and dedication, how can you keep going when it turns out that, really, Fate doesn’t give a shit about you and your attitude?

It’s the kind of questions that Kazunari asks himself in nights like this one, when he gets to see Shintarou at his lowest and hold him through the sobs, when pain mingles with fear, because what if this is the time they break Shintarou for good? What if this time he decides to give up? What if tomorrow Shintarou wakes up and walks out of the door without listening to Oha-Asa’s ranking for Cancer? There’s plenty of people out there ready to say that it would be high time he did, that the reality check is mandatory at this age: frankly speaking, Kazunari’s first reaction to hearing such claims is to kick those poor bastards’ faces.

It’s not their place to judge. It’s _nobody’s_ place to judge.

He hugs Shintarou closer and kisses his forehead, caresses his hair and offers what comfort he can. Shintarou called him his harbour, once, and Kazunari found out he didn’t mind the role at all. Welcomed it, even. It was a relief to know that Shintarou trusted him enough to feel free to break down completely in Kazunari’s presence. It was also the heaviest burden, because when the one falling to pieces in your arms is the person you love most in the world, the need to _make it stop_ and _make it better_ is so strong it becomes physically painful.

\- Shintarou. I am no surgeon, but I talked to Dr. Yamada, earlier, when I came to pick you up, and he stated very clearly that the two of you did everything in your power to save that man. That you, specifically, didn’t miss a single step of the procedure, that you performed exceptionally, even when you had to switch to the back-up plan, and then to the back-up of the back-up plan, and even later, when it turned into a straight up emergency on all fronts. He said he has seen surgeons much more experienced than you panic and lose their focus for less, and yet you didn’t commit a single mistake. Not a single imprecision. He said it was impressive surgery, and that you have an extraordinary talent. That your hands are just as valuable as your mind and that he hasn’t had a pupil this promising in ages. He also told me that he had said all of the above to _you_ as well, right after he talked to the family, and that he feared that you hadn’t believed him. R even heard him in the first place. So he asked me if I could make sure the message got across.

\- He died.  
\- Shintarou, did you get the message?  
\- How could h-  
\- Shin-chan.

There’s a tug at the back of his shirt and Kazunari knows Shintarou is listening.

\- I can’t go over the procedures with you, and I understand that you can’t really take it seriously if _I_ am the one telling you that you made no mistakes in the OR. But I think you can trust your mentor on this, considering that he was there beside you the whole time, that he’s one of the most respected and recognized surgeons of the country and that he has never had trouble highlighting your mistakes, whenever you make them. If Dr Yamada says you two did everything humanly possible to keep that man alive, I’m not going to think it’s a lie. Do _you_ think it’s a lie? Do you think Dr Yamada would _lie_ to you?

There is no answer, but a slight shift at the level of his chest tells Kazunari that Shintarou must have shaken his head slightly in a negative answer. At least that means he has Shintarou’s attention.

\- I can’t speak medical to you, but I can definitely tell you why I believe Dr Yamada whole-heartedly. It’s because I know you inside out, and I know that you would never put a scalpel on someone’s skin if you weren’t a hundred per cent sure of what you were going to do, from start to finish. I’ve lived through med-school with you, Shin-chan, I _know_ that you are prepared, that you are competent, that you’re so anal about possible complications and facing the unexpected that you swallowed more books and research papers that an average human would see in a lifetime. In fact, you have been so amazing at your job, so far, that you caught the attention of an award winner surgeon who decided you were worth his time, knowledge and experience. And I know that you _care_. You are the most caring person I’ve ever met, and there is no way in hell that a man as nurturing and caring as you would not try his hardest to save a life he’s responsible of. Combine that with your brains and talent, and here’s the recipe for literal medical miracles. Which you actually performed through the years, should I remind you.  
You know, Shintarou, it’s human to make mistakes. You made them in the past. And had you made some tonight, I would still be here telling you to not let yourself be crushed, because you heart would have still been in the right place. Nobody learns to ride a bike without falling down a couple of times: you experienced first-hand how awful it is when your falls have consequences on other people, but that’s why you have strict protocols, equips and security measures to minimize risk; and that’s also why not everyone is capable of working in this field and a good chunk of med students give up after a few rough rounds. But you made no mistake tonight, and things went to hell anyway, and I _understand_ how _that_ makes you feel: life is petty, Shin-chan, and unfair. There’s nothing in the grand scheme of things that suggests you and your patient should have lost today, but you did, and the truth is that this time it’s nobody’s fault, and you need to live with it. Blame yourself when you have reason to, and make that sense of guilt fuel your perpetual strive for improvement, but do not bend reality backwards when you don’t, just to have an outlet. You learned to deal with your failures, please Shintarou, learn to live with the universe’s.   
Tell me you’ll wake up with me tomorrow, and that we will watch Oha-Asa together and look for your lucky item if you’re in the bottom half, and that after that you will go to work as usual and start anew like the warrior you are.

Shintarou is silent while Kazunari caresses his hair, but Kazunari knows surgeons are among the most resilient human beings, and Shintarou’s career was not really a choice, but more like a vocation.

\- …will you give me tonight? _Please_?

Kazunari smiles and kisses Shintarou’s forehead, hugs him better and sighs in relief.

\- All the time you need. I’m here. I’ll _always_ be here.

It’s a long time before Kazunari hears words again, to the point where he realizes he must have dozed off for a while.

\- I hate missing. I hate not having answers.  
\- You are right. But sometimes the only thing you can do is getting back up and keep on walking. This way, you don’t miss. And, usually, you find answers.


	19. "Things you said in your sleep" - MidoTaka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous request for the "Things You Said..." meme
> 
> Prompt #34 - "Things you said in your sleep" - MidoTaka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a heavy dose of Akashi here, because come on guys! it's me.

There are two universal truths about Takao Kazunari: that he’s a very talkative person, and that Akashi Seijurou is not exactly his cup of tea.

Midorima has developed an extremely high tolerance to the first, even going as far as to describe Takao’s ability to run his mouth for hours non-stop as ‘endearing’, but doesn’t really bother with the second: Akashi is _his_ friend, Takao respects that, and Midorima respects Takao’s right to avoid Akashi like the plague.

It’s an easy enough arrangement, usually, given that Akashi kind of lives on the other side of the country; for a couple of normal students that would be quite the deterrent in itself, but since His Royal Midgesty (“ _You’re only five centimetres taller than him, Takao…_ ” “ _It’s_ six _!_ ”) apparently shits diamonds and has enough brains to not sweat over his studies and to grant him lots of spare time, visiting his friends isn’t a problem for him – which translates into too many instances of Takao having to call himself out of a game or a date or a gathering of sorts in order to avoid crossing paths with Akashi. Either of them. He has never mastered the art of telling them apart. Midorima mentioned something about heterochromia, but looking for gold would mean staring at Akashi straight in the face for longer than Takao can tolerate so no, thanks, he’ll go without the pleasure of knowing ‘the good Akashi’ and will be perfectly fine with it.

Still, he can’t exactly order Midorima around and tell him _not_ to see Akashi – if only to not give Akashi the chance of implying that Takao is anything less than a perfect boyfriend; on the other hand, this arrangement makes it seem a bit like Takao gave up completely and surrendered without a fight, which in turns makes him think about Akashi’s smug face as he sees Midorima arrive alone again and knows he has won another round. And maybe Akashi _knows_ that Takao is getting lost in this train of thoughts and thus his victory consists exactly in that: fucking up Takao’s perception of reality until he obsesses over Akashi’s real and eventual mind-games. Which _is_ a mind-game in itself, at the same time. But were Takao to be mistaken in his assumptions, would they _still_ be considered mind-games? _Could that be considered Akashi’s victory, too_?

That’s the kind of relationship he has with Akashi Seijurou. And the reason he can’t be trusted in Akashi’s same environment for longer than a hour and a half, provided that there are at least other ten people present.

Midorima calls him mental, but Midorima is also the guy that spends hours getting thoroughly beaten at a virtual shoji board by The Midgety Emperor Extraordinaire (“ _He’ll probably grow a bit, still._ ” “ _So will_ I!”) and _enjoys_ it, so Takao can’t really trust his boyfriend on the matter and just leaves the weirdos do their thing every now and then.

Which is why he’s currently spending a thoroughly enjoyable evening playing games and catching up with the shows Midorima loathes, while the Rainbow Crew has a nice round of drinks and roasting. There was a time in which Takao had thought he had cracked the code of their dynamics: at this stage of his life, he’s perfectly fine just knowing that Midorima’s criminal record will still be clean at the end of the night.

If anything because Akashi Seijurou has extremely good lawyers.       

*

The thing about Takao and _talking_ is just as fundamental, though, because Takao never, _never_ shuts up. Not even when he should. Like in his _sleep_.

So when Midorima goes home that night and spots Takao asleep on the sofa, he doesn’t pay much attention to the fact that at some point there’s a coherent mumbling coming from the cushions. It’s just something that is part of his routine, nowadays.

\- Mind the gap, Shin-chan.  
\- I will, thank you.  
\- Tall.  
\- So I’ve been told.  
\- So tall. You are.  
\- Which, as you well know, gives me quite the upper hand in playing basketball.  
\- Akashi is a midget.

Midorima freezes.

\- Takao.  
\- Red midget on white horse. Checkmate.  
\- Takao.  
\- Found out.

Another voice.

\- What did you find out?  
\- Doesn’t shit diamonds. Solid gold.  
\- That’s enough, I’ll wake him up-  
\- Let him sleep, Shintarou.

Akashi comes up from behind Midorima and looks over the back of the sofa, an eyebrow raised and an amused smile painted on his lips. Midorima takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes.

\- Sorry about that. Here’s the book you wanted.

Akashi takes it and thanks Midorima with a nod, returning his attention to Takao’s sleeping form.

\- Kazunari?

A grunt. Akashi turns to Midorima, mouthing:

\- We used to do this during training camps!

Midorima nods and pushes up his spectacles, smiling lightly.

\- I remember you having an entire conversation with Kise about bubble-gum and, ehr, the keys of an airplane, if I remember correctly?  
\- Yes, and somehow it was Kuroko’s fault all along. May I?

Midorima looks between the two of them and sighs.

\- Just… behave. Please.

Akashi nods and steps closer to the sofa.

\- Kazunari?

Another grunt.

\- What about Akashi Seijurou?  
\- Which one.

Fair point.

\- The nice one.  
\- Too red.  
\- Your boyfriend is all green.  
\- Shin-chan is pretty.  
\- I agree. Isn’t Akashi pretty?  
\- Too pretty.

That’s actually an unexpected turn. Midorima is on the verge of giving up when Takao resumes talking, because of course he does.

\- Shin-chan’s my boyfriend.

Midorima doesn’t know if the sight of Akashi totally enthralled in this silly game is entertaining or downright terrifying.

\- Of course he is.  
\- No red midgets on green trees.

Midorima facepalms. Akashi looks on the verge of laughter.

\- Dutifully noted.  
\- Scary tiny monsters.  
\- Okay, now, that’s enough.

Midorima puts himself in between them and Akashi takes the hint and steps back. He fixes his jacket, adjust his grip on the book he’s borrowing from Midorima and moves towards the door, chuckling slightly. Midorima sees him off, looking mortified.

\- Sorry about that. Sleep-talking. No filters.

Akashi shakes his head, still laughing softly.

\- Come on, it was my fault from start to finish. Actually, I _really_ like him. He’s so good for you. Can you please make sure he knows I have no intention of taking you away? I’d like to invite him along, next time.

Midorima smiles.

\- I can try.

Akashi nods.

\- Thank you for the book. I’ll return it next time. See you, Shintarou. Goodnight.  
\- Goodnight.

*

It’s a weird night, so Midorima just shrughs and picks Takao up to carry him to the bedroom. Not even that is enough to wake him up fully. He snuggles closer, though.

\- My boyfriend’s all green.  
\- Said like that it doesn’t paint a great image.  
\- No red midgets on green trees.

Midorima snorts at the petulance of it all and kisses Takao’s frown.

\- Nope. Only hawks.


	20. Broken Glass - MidoTaka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by tumblr user meishao55 for the Minific Meme:
> 
> Letter I - Broken Glass - MidoTaka

\- What was that sound?   
\- Shin-chan, I’m pretty sure you imagined it.  
\- I’m pretty sure I didn’t.

Midorima is an intimidating person, and there is no going around that fact. It’s the side-effect of being 195cm giant with green hair, too much muscle than a 16-year-old basketball player should have, an impeccable family, an impeccable school-record, an impeccable status in the athletic world and an haughty, crisp attitude.   
The average high-schooler usually runs away at the first two.   
Most of their seniors give up at the fourth.

Takao likes to think (and say) he’s immune to it, but really, the truth is he has forced himself to ignore Midorima’s off-putting aura out of raw resentment, at first. Then Oha-Asa balanced things out and, at this point, Takao is positive he has cracked Midorima’s code, which is the one and only reason he finds himself in the privileged position of filter between Midorima and the rest of the world, aka the people that keep on insisting that that green mass of idiosyncrasies is anything short of scary.

And really, Takao can see where they come from, but it’s pretty much impossible for him, nowadays, to take them seriously: Mr Scary is currently looking at him in a way that would make a stranger quiver and bolt away, for example, but Takao only wants to laugh out loud because what’s _actually_ going on is Shin-chan running around the locker-room half-naked after their shower and trying not to bump into things while he searches for his glasses. That Takao has hidden. _Again_.

It’s a lot harder to take Midorima seriously when you are as familiar with him as Takao has grown to be. Or when you’ve made it your favourite game to steal Midorima’s glasses after practice and place them somewhere different inside the locker-room every day. Or every other day, just to avoid predictability and keep Midorima on his toes. This particular day, however, Takao might have a little bit to fear, after all.

\- Shin-chan, believe me, I-  
\- I know what it sounds like when someone steps on my spectacles.

Midorima is also too blunt and direct  for the common interlocutor. Although this time he is in the right.

\- It was an accident!  
\- Where did you put them today?!  
\- …beneath Kimura-san’s bench?

Midorima squints his eyes at him again (maybe he’s just trying to focus, it’s honestly impossible to tell the difference) and turns around stiffly. He moves around with his back straight and a stern expression, but Takao knows he’s just trying to guess whose locker is his, so he can put a shirt on. It’s the cutest, most comical sight.

\- Two steps on the right, Shin-chan. Another little one. Turn slightly to the left. There you are.  
\- I know!  
\- Of course. I was just making sure we were on the same page.

Takao bends down while Midorima gets dressed and cringes a little when his hands close around the broken glasses and they fall apart in his palm. When he approaches Midorima, the latter has already retrieved the spare pair he always brings along. Just in case. It fits under the definition of ‘doing your best and being prepared’. Takao scratches his head, sincerely apologetic, and looks elsewhere as he holds up the battered spectacles.

\- Let’s stop by the shop near your house, this week-end, I’ll buy you a new pair.

Midorima looks at him like he has sprouted another head.

\- Why should you?

It’s Takao’s turn to be weirded out.

\- Are you crazy? It’s my fault they got broken!  
\- Glasses are expensive.  
\- That’s the point. You shouldn’t have to pay for a joke gone wrong.

It’s kind of funny, how Midorima looks frozen on the spot. It’s also kind of unnerving.

\- How are you planning to pay for them?

Takao shrugs.

. I’ve been saving up my pocket money for a while. Trading cards next month, you know? Maybe I can even talk my sister into lending me some: she should be happy with me doing her English homework for a bunch of weeks… what is it?

It’s a bit unsettling to be on the receiving end of such an intense gaze.

\- Why would you do that?

Takao stares back as if Midorima, this time, had gone completely mad.

\- Shin-chan, what the heck are we talking about? I wanted to pull the usual prank, it backfired, I’m taking responsibility for my actions, that’s it. No big deal. Really, I don’t know why it turned into such a big issue.

Except he has started to have an idea, lately, and the more he and Midorima get close, the more his suspicions get confirmed – and the core of the matter is that Midorima never expects others to have regards towards him. He accepts praises for his high marks, but he knows they’re due to his practically erfect scores and that teachers do not really care about anything else about him. He understands that his status as a basketball prodigy grants him privileges, but at the end of the day those, too, are people’s response to a talent of his, to an ability that he puts at the school’s service and that brings Shutoku a certain prestige. Miyaji-san is always threatening to break his lucky items, and although he hasn’t gone through with his declared intentions yet, the sentiment is definitely there and Takao knows enough about the group dynamics of teenage boys to understand the whole picture. It’s his talent, to always be aware of the entirety of his surroundings. And lately, when he stops to think about the entirety of _Midorima’s_ surroundings, he gets a peculiar sense of unease that he has a hard time putting into words, but that gnaws at him at the most unexpected moments.

When Midorima missteps at practice and for a split second he looks like he expects Nakatani to kick him out of the team.   
When Cancer is ranked in the bottom-half of the chart.   
When a jackass oversteps his boundaries and Midorima shrugs it off with a sniff of distaste.  
When he stays alone after practice and doesn’t even occur to him that he could ask for company.  
When Takao takes for granted that they’re hanging out after school, just for the sake of it, and Midorima asks _why Takao is following him, did they have unfinished business or something_.  
When a prank goes wrong and he doesn’t understand why a person would want to make amends.

It’s Midorima that looks away first, slightly unsettled and muttering.

\- You don’t have to buy me new glasses. It was an accident.

Takao knows he won’t win that argument.

\- Can I at least treat you to a meal or something? We don’t have classes tomorrow. Let’s study at the library and spend some time at the park. We can play ball and eat junk food like every guy our age.

Midorima stares at him, sports bag in hand, and Takao sees a glimmer of surprise and uncertainty behind his spare lenses. It’s just a moment, then Midorima pushes them up his nose and his face disappears nehind his palm.

\- Yes. Alright.

Takao nods, and snickers to himself because somehow that makes him happy. He moves towards the door and calls back.

\- Cool! Let’s go, Shin-chan, I’ll pedal you home, I owe you!  
\- Takao.

He’s already in the corridor when he hears that, and backtracks until his head pokes through the open door and he sees Midorima closing his own locker for the night, hand still hovering near the tag with his jersey number.

\- Thanks for offering.

One’s first instinct might be to roll their eyes and dismiss it, but Takao is becoming very well-versed and fluent in Midorima’s language, so he just holds Midorima’s gaze, smiles and nods, waiting for him at the door.

They exit the gym side by side, as usual. Takao chatters about his old, battered basketball shoes. Midorima answers with actually good advice. Takao looks over, secretively, and sees Midorima smile.

He closes his eyes and smiles to himself too.


	21. When words aren't enough - MidoTaka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by tumblr user meishao55 for the Minific Meme:
> 
> Letter J - When words aren't enough - MidoTaka
> 
> ...another take on the post Shutoku vs Rakuzan match, because that arc is an endless source of material.

The day has been all about disappointments, spectacular failures and misjudgement. So, really, what’s a hug in the locker-rooms compared to all of that madness? If anything, nobody’s going to fault them for acting weird, for once. Midorima is also ready to take full blame and responsibility, if the need arose: he’s already used to be the weird one, and truth to be told, people tend to be more accepting towards oddness, when it stems from _him_. Or, at least, resigned. Which isn’t more comforting in terms of social relations, but is indeed very practical.

 Thing is: it doesn’t feel _weird_ at the moment.

They’ve talked it out, because that’s what you do  when you’re dealing with Takao, you talk things out whether you want it or not – in fact, they didn’t want to, they told each other as much just before hitting the showers, but then they _still_ ended up doing it, right _after_ hitting the showers, because this wasn’t a thing that could be left unsaid between them, this wasn’t a matter that either of them could pick up without words.

They’ve pushed each other and the team to the limit, they have improved beyond Coach Nakatani’s and their own expectations, they have managed to pull off such an impressive play in so little time that it left the crowd speechless. And none of that was enough to bring them even _close_ to victory.

This isn’t only a matter of _losing_. Losing happens. This is about doing the absolute best you can, no buts, no restraints, no excuses, and getting thoroughly humiliated.

For Takao, it’s middle-school all over again, at a time when he thought it couldn’t be possible, not anymore, and it’s the equivalent of a black hole opening beneath his feet and swallowing him up without him opposing any resistance – because _what_ resistance can you put up, if your absolute best is never going to even _challenge_ your opponent?

For Midorima, it’s an old wound torn open again and _salted_ , for good measure. It’s the painful reminder of times he wished to forget, had started to; of and endless list of failures he’s not sure he will ever recover and heal from, at this point; of the pointless silliness of his beliefs, which he stubbornly can’t help but hold on to, nevertheless.

They have avoided the topic for a while, words are not an option when you’re sixteen, exhausted, and emotionally bared and raw. They have shut down and dealt with it on their own, until they couldn’t anymore, because Takao felt completely lost and ready to call it quits once for all, and Midorima felt guilty and _stupid_ for even trying and really, it wouldn’t have ended well if they hadn’t had the other at hand, ready to call them out on their respective bullshit.

It’s sickeningly liberating for Midorima to hear Takao tear Akashi and his whole team apart, words that Midorima can’t bring himself to pronounce out-loud, because there’s history there, a kind of complicated one, and he doesn’t trust himself on the issue here, and it’s terrifically _nice_ to hear someone else give voice to his most depreciable thoughts.

It’s fundamental for Takao to have an anchor, to listen to someone that knows Akashi as a human and not a death-machine, that can put things into perspective even when they’re both too fucking devastated to function. It’s the one thing he needs in order to not let go of reality completely and do something he would regret, like lashing out at Midorima and lose him too. A Midorima that is toning down Takao’s self-deprecating words is also a Midorima that isn’t blaming Takao for their loss, which puts another ghost at rest, at last for the time being.

And that’s the problem, above all, that it’s all too much and too fresh and too raw to be tamed by a few muttered words, no matter how sincere. It’s a temporary palliative and it doesn’t really calm them down, it just barely contains them and avoids worse damage, but they’re still left struggling, and gasping for fresh air, and grasping for a peace of mind that they know would not come that night, yet they still crave.

It’s actually Midorima that starts it, because he’s the weird one and Takao has gone back to pacing up and down the locker-room, upset and on the verge of letting loose, hand perpetually on his hair in what looks like painful pulls. It is a matter of needing Takao to _stop_ , for a moment: stop hurting himself, physically and not, stop gritting his teeth, stop tearing himself and his abilities down.

Midorima intercepts him while Takao is about to start another rant, and hugs him, just like that. It’s at the same time an active try to be of help, and a request for support; for a bunch of awful seconds, he can’t help but feel even more vulnerable, because if this is the wrong move and Takao calls him out on it, Midorima is going to lose it for good.

But Takao doesn’t. After a brief, predictable moment of surprise, what Takao does is lean into the hug and reciprocate it to the best of what their height difference allows. Midorima hears an intake of breath and a fleeting stiffness before there are arms around him as well, holding onto him tightly, and he somehow can start breathing again, slowly but steadily.

They have said a lot and surely there is much more that needs to be discussed, but there is a time for words and a time for comfort and closeness; there’s a time for talking your heart out, for taking in someone else’s pain and a time for silent healing, for staying grounded, for recognizing your true allies and rely on them.

There’s warmth in each other’s arms, and an anti-climatic sense of relief that it’s a threat to what little self-control they have left on their tear-ducts. There’s a soothing calm descending over the two of them like a cape, a lull towards rest that tastes bitterly like resignation, but after all the strain they went through, the call is indeed sweet.

More than once Midorima thinks they have reached the moment to let go and get out of the sports palace and go home, but neither of them moves, or gives sign he means to. It crosses Midorima’s mind that maybe there is something more going on in between them, even if they are the first to not know what that is, exactly, and how they should act about it. It would need words that they don’t have yet, and why should they lose time looking for those, when they can accomplish so much just staying close like this?

After all, the day has been all about spectacular failings and poor judgement.

And also, in a sense, Fate.


	22. A Reunion Kiss - MidoTaka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by tumblr user meishao55, for the Sweet Affectionate Moments Meme:
> 
> #5 - A Reunion Kiss - MidoTaka
> 
> ZombieApocalypse!AU because I'm a sucker for those.

It tastes like sweat, blood and dust, but it’s still the sweetest kiss the ever shared – the first after the world as they knew it ceased to exist and people started to drop dead at every corner, just to rise up again in less than 24 hours, looking for living flesh to eat.

They weren’t together when it started, Takao still in Tokyo and Midorima visiting his grandparents out of town, and they only had the time and possibilities for a few, definitely _not_ reassuring phone calls before electricity stopped working altogether and their mobiles shut down for good.

The Government response had been as quick and efficient as the situation allowed, and Takao knows that on one hand he’s been very lucky to be in the city, because his chances of finding supplies and, above all, news and updates were the highest there. It was also a given that _a lot_ of resources were getting employed to evacuate their area, which meant more ships sent to gather survivors and less road to travel in order to get to them. On the other hand, though, densely populated sites are also the ones that suffers more casualties, which in his case lead to an insanely large number of un-deads, all concentrated in a relatively small patch of land. It made cities the deadliest, most dangerous places to survive in while waiting for help, and even if it killed Takao every day to go to sleep and realize he hadn’t thought about Midorima once since morning, he also had a mother and a little sister to keep alive and put on a boat.

He considered organizing an expedition around the area Midorima was supposed to be, but by the time he had a reasonable idea of what and who it might be needed, so much time had passed that the last information he had on survivor groups there could not be considered reliable anymore. He tried going all the same, but stronger and wiser people stopped him in time. He knows, now, that they were right. He also knows that he has died a little, that day.

Takao hasn’t allowed himself to cry for a long time. He didn’t cry when his father never came home from work. He didn’t cry when they saw him roaming the street, gaze empty, half of his face missing – and he didn’t tell his mother, nor his sister. He didn’t cry when they packed whatever they could and left their home for good, leaving everything behind. He buried his trading cards under a tatami, perfectly sealed, in the childish hope to get them back, one day. He did take with him the Shutoku jersey, though. It’s still functional light-wear, and really easy to transport or stash away secretly. He didn’t cry when they kept moving every few days, giving up on the sentimental hope that Midorima could have found them. How could he, if Takao kept changing bases and getting farther and farther away from the places Midorima was more likely to look for him, first?

He didn’t cry when he and what was left of his family reached the last military outpost before being assigned a ship, and he met familiar faces there, but also learned that no search party in Midorima’s direction had been successful and the whole area had been marked a waste land and lost to the enemy.

He only allowed himself to break down when he finally stepped on the rescue boat, soldiers all around them, mother and sister as safe as they could be, a bunch of friends sharing that kind of grief. That which came with knowing that he would have never seen Midorima again, and that they’d never really had the chance of saying one last time that he loved him, so very much.

He woke up several nights at the sound of his own voice, in a state of panic because he had just had the worst nightmares about Midorima getting caught by a group of un-deads. Kagami was the most helpful in those times, having lived with a similar weight on his shoulders for weeks: apparently, Kuroko’s misdirection doesn’t work against zombies, which made their journey extremely difficult. Aomine was, surprisingly, very supportive too. On a sleepless night, he told Takao everything about the weeks he had spent searching his neighbourhood for Momoi, fearing that every time he turned a corner or kicked a door open, she would have looked at him with bloodshot eyes and no soul. Of course, Momoi had been smart enough to survive, but that didn’t make it any less heavy on Aomine’s mind.

When the alarms go off, on their last day in the port, signalling survivors approaching, Takao doesn’t even bother. It had already happened, that was why the ships always stayed in the bay for a while and the area had been turned into a military base. But they were ready to sail for good that time, so the camp had been dismantled and there were already un-deads crawling around and claiming the place back.

*

Takao doesn’t pay attention to the new people spotted on the ground until he hears Kuroko lose his composure like he has never done before and run on the deck shouting:

\- It’s Midorima-kun!!!

Takao outruns him and pushes his way through the crowd, slamming at full force against the railing and looking at the mainland for the first time in days. Despite the blood stains on their clothes and the mud and dust making it impossible to distinguish most of their traits and colours, there is no mistaking the _two_ green heads, nor the impressive height of the boy.

He turns on his heels and runs as fast as he can on the lower floors, where people are checked and visited before being allowed a shot of the serum and put into a quarantine that leads to their official admission on board. Takao loses track of space, track of time, he loses track of people screaming above him and of soldiers shooting monsters in order to help the survivors be rescued. He doesn’t come back to his senses until he hears a young girl crying out in fear and distress, until he has made his way to the bottom of the ship, where civilians are not allowed anymore and soldiers are rounding them up. Until, finally, he lays eyes on Midorima, until he calls Midorima out at the top of his lungs, from among the crowd, and Midorima hears him.

*

The protocol is strict and doesn’t allow trespassing, but the medical staff has seen enough death and heard enough tragic stories – plus, they are acquainted with Takao and genuinely like him, so it doesn’t take much for him to willingly sign up for a second round in quarantine. There is no way that even the Government, at this point, can keep him away from Midorima. He wants to know everything about how Midorima managed to survive and reach the bay, all the while keeping his little sister safe, but there will be time for that, for recounting painful times and sharing sorrow. At the moment, all he wants to do is kiss Shintarou (because that’s his name, no matter how many times Takao denied himself the pleasure of calling him that way) until their lips fall off. Shintarou looks drained and exhausted, far too thin and in desperate need of hot water and soap, but Takao thinks his eyes have never looked so vibrantly green, and that he has never seen something so beautiful in his life. Shintarou clings to him like a madman, maybe he is, maybe they both are, but since their world got turned upside down, who can really tell what  qualifies as abnormal behaviour, nowadays?

There’s a low rumble as the ship starts moving, at last. They made it. They both made it, and while they hold onto each other it almost feels like it could be possible to start looking at the future again, to feel their aching hearts take on a wobbly, new rhythm, one beat at a time.

It’s a kiss that tastes of sweat, blood and dust.

It also tastes of youth. Hope. And love.


	23. A Drunken Kiss - MidoTaka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by tumblr user jesschan6918, for the Sweet Affectionate Moments Meme:
> 
> Prompt #4 - A Drunken Kiss - MidoTaka

Summer is Takao’s favourite season, because the air is always hot and full of lovely smells, the world is a blur of beautiful colours and they get to take a break from school before finals. There’s basket, too. So when Shutoku turns the tables and wins the Inter-high that year, Takao’s summer suddenly sky-rockets beyond perfection.

It’s the kind of cathartic moment in your life that you wish you could freeze in time and hand on your wall like a picture, keep it always by your side, at hand, to look at it every time something goes wrong and you need to remind yourself what it feels like to be happy.

It’s the kind of sensation that, at seventeen, makes you want to hop on the hood of a car, take off your shirt and yell to the void that you are the king of the world. That makes you want to run until your legs ache and then jump into the ocean. Or, more often, that makes you want to get so illegally wasted you’re not going to remember your name in the morning.

Of course, none of that is going to happen when your best friend is Midorima Shintarou - and when Takao’s mother warned her son about being a good boy, or else he would have had to answer to his own conscience first, little Takao couldn’t have imagines that his conscience would have been 195cm tall and wearing square glasses over a very intimidating glare.  
They have taken a detour on the way home, after bidding the rest of the team goodnight and sending the trophy safely back at school with Coach, because Takao felt full of energy and wanted to find a good place to look at the stars, no matter how much he had to pedal to reach it. Of course he lost at rock-paper-scissors: it’s a perfect day, yes, but in the realm of things that can actually happen.

The first taste of what’s to come, he gets when he stops the rickshaw on the side of a riverbank, and the left wheel catches a dent in the road. The cart, almost still, bumps and wobbles a little, and there a very unmistakable clinking sound echoing in the silent night, at Midorima’s right, coming from under an anonymous duvet. Takao can _hear_ the can rolling on the wooden boards and stop at Midorima’s thigh, he has to cover his mouth with his hands to stifle a fit of laughter as he looks ahead and pictures Midorima lifting up the can and making out its content. He almost falls off the bike at Midorima’s perfectly timed grunt of indignation when he realizes it’s _not_ oshiruko that he’s holding. And then, surely…

\- Takao!

He cackles loudly.

 

\- This is- why there is-  
\- Beer, Shin-chan. Calm down. It’s just _beer_.  
\- Why is there _beer_ in the rickshaw?!  
\- Because I’m doing a favour to our seniors.  
\- Who c-  
\- Miyaji-san.

It’s the name that usually ends all of their discussions, because you just don’t question Miyaji-san – either of them, it runs in the family. But the sight of _alcohol_ is evidently a too huge topic to be let go.

\- They’re not of age!  
\- Never stopped anyone, as far as I know.  
\- It’s _illegal_!  
\- Yeah, well, I think that is not as strong a deterrent as I think you hope it would be.  
\- Why do _you_ have it?!  
\- Because they brought too much and Coach would have noticed. Told Miyaji-san that I’m returning it tomorrow morning, but when we parted, earlier, he said we could keep it. You know, like we earned our share winning and everything.  
\- _Our_ share?  
\- It was actually nice of him to include you, you know.  
\- You plan on drinking _this_!?!  
\- I wasn’t, really, but if you keep this up I might actually do it, just to tip you off.

Midorima’s offended expression, the one that makes him look like a ruffled, disgruntled cat, will always be one of Takao’s favourite.

*

\- What is, exactly, that you are trying to achieve with this nonsense?  
\- To be honest, I still want to enjoy a nice summer night with my friend, you know? Warm weather, the stars, no curfew, we actually won the freakin’ Inter-high…  
\- You don’t need to get intoxicated in order to do that.  
\- I agree, and sipping a single beer doesn’t qualify as “ _getting intoxicated_ ”.  
\- You’re an athlete. That you would choose to poison your own body to celebrate a victory is extremely hypocritical.  
\- _This_ could be a pretty good point…  
\- Plus, it’s still _illegal_.  
\- …you _tried_ , Shin-chan.

*

\- You know, if you’re going to spend the evening judging me from your corner of the cart and glaring disapproving daggers in my direction, you can very well get up and go home.  
\- Nonsense.  
\- Eh?

Midorima looks away.

\- It would not be wise nor morally acceptable to leave you alone with a vehicle while you might not be in the condition of driving it safely.  
\- You _do_ realize I’m not drunk nor I plan to be, yes?

Midorima doesn’t answer.

\- Still, I appreciate the concern.

Midorima nods.

*

\- Here, take a sip.  
\- I’m not participating in this.  
\- And I’m not pointing a gun to your head demanding you get shitfaced, but I _do_ know you’re curious. Here. Take a sip. I promise you I’m calling the ambulance at the first sign of alcohol poisoning. Also not going to call the cops on you.  
\- Not funny.  
\- Neither is your attitude. Besides, you have your lucky item. I’m sure that yellow comb will protect us from harm.

Midorima rolls his eyes dramatically, accepts the can and drinks. Takao is actually speechless.

\- …so?

Midorima grimaces.

\- …it really has a horrible taste.

Takao laughs out loud and touches their beers together.

\- I know, _right_!?

*

Beer or not, it feels nice to stare at the sky together from inside the cart. It seems ages has passed since the last time they were alone together like this. Weird, since between school and basketball they are together every day, not to mention the occasional weekend. Still, this is different, with a tournament over and no classes. Summer truly gives you the chance to look at yourself from another perspective. If only because you get to interact with your peers without the barrier of a uniform and the strict routine that comes with it. Takao is the kind of guy that enjoys his tank-tops. Midorima would definitely rock them, but is more the t-shirt type. For some reason, it makes Takao happy to be able to see the difference.

They drift closer at some point, while they talk, until Takao is half-lying on Midorima’s side and shoulder and the funny thing is, Midorima himself doesn’t show an inkling that he finds it bothering or, at the very least, unusual. It lights up something in Takao that has been there for a while, now, but he puts to sleep lately in order to function properly. It’s the kind of feeling that made him want to grin stupidly every time Midorima pulled off one of his Miraculous basketball stunts. Or that made him want to hug Midorima’s waist whenever he was being inadvertently cute. Or that made him think that a green giant wearing glasses could be described as _cute_.

Now that he looks up and looks better, _handsome_ would be a much better description.

\- Shin-chan.  
\- Mh?  
\- I think I might be the tiniest bit tipsy. Maybe.  
\- That is not possible.  
\- What.

Midorima pushes back his glasses.

\- I find it very hard to believe that a person of your built could have reached a significant level of intoxication with the amount of alcohol contained in a simple can of discount beer. Is this even actual beer?  
\- I can’t answer that and also you might want to rephrase everything, because I lost you at “person”.

Midorima frowns at him and clicks his tongue.

\- You weight too much to get drunk on a glass and a half of a low-alcohol beverage such as this one.  
\- Are you saying I’m fat?  
\- I’m saying you’re _fit._

That shuts Takao up, even if he was just pretending to feel drunk.

*

\- I do feel a little light-headed, though. For real.

Midorima slips down until they’re both lying on their backs, legs dangling out of the cart, and staring at the sky. Takao goes on.

\- I can’t tell if it’s really the alcohol, though. Might just be the adrenaline wearing off.

Midorima nods.

\- It might. I do feel it a bit, too.  
\- It might indeed. We _did_ win the Inter-high.

Midorima chuckles, unexpectedly.

\- We did.  
\- Look, I don’t know what brought this feeling up, but I like it a lot. I’m happy.

Midorima turns around and looks at him. Takao feels the gaze on his skin and does the same.

\- I’m happy – he repeats.

Midorima doesn’t answer and they spend some time in silence just looking at each other. Takao has the impression that there is a whole conversation silently going on between them, but he doesn’t dare break the spell. What he does, though, is inch closer to Midorima, fuelled by the fact that Midorima not only doesn’t scoot away, but actually tries to meet him halfway – and all of a sudden it’s a clear summer night, the air is warm and it smells of flowers, there’s the low lull of the river filling their ears along with cricket chirps. Their noses are touching, Takao’s blood feels like it’s on fire and he has never been more aware of his seventeen years in his whole life.

When he touches their lips together, he is also ignoring the loud alarm bells blasting emergency sirens in his head. Bells that go mute the moment he feels Midorima _not_ ending the contact but answering in kind. Takao closes his eyes and enjoys it in its simplicity, until his brain unfreezes and he needs to touch an issue. Midorima gets there first.

\- Do you want to blame the alcohol?

There is the slightest taste of beer in their breath, and Takao knows Midorima is giving him an emergency exit, it’s the same he wanted to give Midorima - and he wasn’t expecting to be on the receiving end of the question. He shakes his head and smiles when Midorima lets out a relieved sigh.

Moments later they’re kissing again, and from the way their hands behave it looks like they won’t be down from their victory-induced high state for a while. Takao makes a mental note of checking the actual alcohol volume in those cheap beers: he _knows_ it shouldn’t be possible for them to suffer its effects, but as he runs his fingers through Midorima’s hair and feels Midorima pulling their bodies _closer_ , he swears he feels positively and completely _drunk_.


	24. Cuddling - MuraHimu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by tumblr user jesschan6918, for the Sweet Affectionate Moment Meme:
> 
> Prompt #19 - Cuddling - MuraHimu
> 
> [First time writing the pairing, please be lenient]

Murasakibara is not stupid. Murasakibara is not a baby. Murasakibara is not unperceptive. Of that, Himuro is sure.

What Murasakibara is, is a bit spoiled, but he has already improved a lot; a tad childish sometimes, and generally slightly lazier than normal. He’s also the kind of guy that will take a train to go back on the other side of the country to spend a day with his friends, which makes every other assumption fall short, really.

Murasakibara doesn’t put effort where he can’t see a reason to, doesn’t bother if he deems a cause not worthy, does not make emotional investments if he thinks them risky. Given the way people believe in his presence or towards him, Himuro isn’t entirely sure he can fault Murasakibara completely.

It’s not Murasakibara’s fault that he’s so tall and good at basketball, for starters. Sure, it would help him to not use “ _I’ll crush you_ ” as a catchphrase and to generally be more easy-going and approachable, but it is also true that he loosens up a lot when he doesn’t feel perpetually under someone’s scrutiny. It must definitely be unnerving, to always be at the centre of the attention for no other reason that you are two meters tall and with purple hair. Sometimes, Himuro wonders if Murasakibara’s animosity towards Kuroko is actually just poorly concealed jealousy of Kuroko’s ability to mingle with people and disappear in the crowd. Something that Murasakibara will never be able to achieve. In this light, it’s not surprising that he always seems to do nothing, say nothing, go nowhere: it’s the closest he can get to be invisible, to blend in, to stay unnoticed.

And maybe it’s because he looks so detached, but sometimes it’s hard to remember that Murasakibara is still very much a teenager, he’s actually Himuro’s junior, and it’s weird how people tend to put so much pressure and expectations on him. As if only by virtue of being an extremely fit, extremely strong, extremely gifted person he had to adhere to equally strict standards and always be able to face life like an adult. He’s not, and perhaps there’s a stubborn point being made with the snacks _and_ the attitude.

Himuro doesn’t want to baby Murasakibara, but he’s a little uncomfortable with the way Murasakibara drags himself, sometimes, and allows himself to be tricked and manipulated into doing things and training. It almost looks like basketball is the only time he can get loose, but even there there’s history, and complications, and an unspoken rule of not getting too carried away, or he might risk hurting others. It’s extremely hard to pick up these things and then scold Murasakibara for accidentally breaking a hoop during practice, or deny him a bag of chips after dinner.

Himuro doesn’t know if he can be that person, the one that manages to make things right. He thinks he took a nice path, when he brought the basketball team together: he likes how they _flow_ , and how Murasakibara can share that light-hearted company without being outed for his appearance, or kept at distance. They have built a dynamic group that Murasakibara can be a part of, and even if there is still work to so, he feels positive they’re on the right track. He doesn’t know much about Teikou, but this feels like an improvement anyway.

Still, it’s not always enough. There are bad days in which he catches Murasakibara lagging behind in the locker-room, or locking himself in his room very early, or just straight up disappearing for hours. In days like these, Himuro does not really know what to do, except empathizing; even if he doesn’t. Even if all of that is infuriating to him, because he would have given _anything_ to be as gifted as Murasakibara is. Still, he can’t help putting together a hot chocolate and a duvet, and throw himself on the couch with Murasakibara, in these days, or in his bed. They just stay there together, no words spoken and no spare touches. Just huddled side by side under a blanket. Sometimes Murasakibara hides his face in the crook of Himuro’s neck. Usually, there are caresses of some sort.

It helps Himuro put things into perspective. Hopefully, it helps Murasakibara feel a little less alone.

The day Murasakibara brings a pillow to their sofa and is the one initiating this weird ritual of theirs, Himuro know it does.


	25. A Stolen Kiss - TouMaki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by tumblr user jesschan6918, for the Minific Meme:
> 
> Letter L - A Stolen Kiss - for TouMaki

From the moment he understood what romance was, Toudou has been daydreaming about the many, different ways he might and would have touched every milestone, in vivid, excruciating details.

His favourite scenarios always involve an extremely pretty girl acting proper, shy and adorably love-struck, and his own ability to sweep her off her feet with his mere presence and small talk. When the gods have bestowed upon you three magnificent gifts, the key to success lays in polishing them and putting them to good use. In his fantasies, Toudou is always impeccably dressed and behaved, not a hair out of place nor a wrinkle on his shirt; not a dirty spot on his shoes, nor a slang word on his vocabulary. At age fifteen, when entering high-school, he deems himself ready to live his dream, having mastered the arts of beauty and conversation and having entered the realm of possibilities that Hakone Gakuen represents in terms of fortuitous encounters: he has read enough od his sister’s shoujo mangas to have internalized that the three years ahead of him are going to be the theatre on which the prime of his life is going to air - and that most of the sweet memories of adolescence that he will cherish for the rest of his life will take place in that setting.

He walks across the gates of HakoGaku with his head held up high, smiling confidently at all the girls he encounters, firmly intentioned to turn every single fantasy in an even better reality.

A year later, he has put even his third gift on the table and has already become an invaluable asset of the cycling team. He’s fit, he’s beautiful, he has good grades, he’s a well-mannered gentleman and he has his own, personal fan-club. What he doesn’t have, though, is a girlfriend. Toudou is vaguely aware of the fact that he could just look over at his supporters, pick one at random and that would be it, but there’s something holding him back: it’s not only a matter of human decency, since it would be extremely despicable of him to delude and deceive another person that way, but also the lack of interest in what he imagined would have been a constant source of it (meaning: girls). He knows he wants a spark, a challenge and a sweet resolution to conflicting emotions, and since he has promised himself that he won’t settle for anything less, while he waits and keeps his image pristine, he cycles.

When he meets Makishima Yuusuke in a race, he simultaneously gets the spark, the challenge (that he loses) and lots of conflicting emotions, with no chance of sweet resolution on the horizon. That night, Toudou goes home feeling insecure and confused about himself for the first time in years.

When he calls Makishima “Maki-chan” for the first time, and Makishima smiles back in that creepily happy way of his, something inside Toudou clicks inadvertently into place.

In the span of a few months, Makishima has taken over his life and Toudou has broken pretty much every rule he had imposed on himself regarding gracious behaviour: he is obsessively texting and calling Makishima, he loses his composure more often, he is unilaterally focused on training and breaking his own climbing records. He’s also neglecting his love-life and has fallen behind on his self-imposed, self-drafted schedule, but when he notices, he just shrugs and hops on his bike.

By the time they make their promise, on a day of pouring rain, when Makishima blew up _both_ his wheels and for the first time left him alone to finish a race, Toudou knows he is, at best, very much infatuated with his rival and, at worst, very much in love with him. The butterflies fluttering in his stomach every time Makishima picks up the phone or answers a text make the answer pretty clear.

It changes everything, because for years Toudou has been ready to graciously enter the world of high-school romance, but instead of a nice young lady blinded by his savoir-faire, all he can think about is a caustic, slouching guy sporting almost two feet of wild green hair, with no fashion sense whatsoever and as inept socially as he is brilliant on a bike.

At first, Toudou despairs. Then weeks pass, the Inter-high is just around the corner, bringing with it the end of their time as members of the HakoGaku cycling club, which for Toudou means no more chances to meet Makishima on official occasions, as a rival. And, potentially, never seeing Makishima again for a long time which, in Toudou’s current state of mind, is absolutely unacceptable.

Toudou’s plans for his teenage love-life change, and so do his fantasies, that now have the Inter-high as their main stage. He’s lucky: the tournament takes place in his home town, and during practice he often wonders if there could be a way to show Makishima some of his favourite spots. The reinvigorating ride downhill after a rush to the peak becomes the best moment to rehearse his speeches and let his mind wander in the land of day-dreams. It took a bit, but now he has managed to suit his perfectly crafted scenarios to the very peculiar nature of his love interest: the most realistic scene he has imagined for his confession sees the two of them at the end of the Inter-high, after Toudou has won the tournament with his team (because of course they’re going to defend the title and keep it) and everyone is almost ready to go home; dream!Toudou runs after Makishima with extreme grace and composure and self-confidence, but without giving off an intimidating aura, and confesses his feelings with serene gravity and few, well-chosen words of outmost respect and devotion – words that Makishima can’t ignore and reciprocates, in his own way. The ending is wishful thinking, of course, but the rest of it, Toudou plans to enact, word for word. His other fantasies, the wildest (but also the most satisfying), include unlikely coincidences such as Makishima falling victim to minor accidents and Toudou stepping in and playing the hero: tending wounds and displaying major competence and unusual first-aid skills. He kind of feels bad for taking advantage of Makishima’s injuries, even if they’re imaginary, but he can’t think of better ways to impress his stoic crush, since it seems that Makishima is blind to both his beauty _and_ sweet tongue, and they definitely won’t have time to play tourists or go on a proper date. Perhaps, Toudou thinks, he could arrange something of that genre _after_ the Inter-high, but the emotional impact wouldn’t be the same, and Makishima _is_ a sore loser, so he might refuse in lieu of his loss at the tournament…. _no_. _It has to be the Inter-high_.

The tournament starts and nothing goes even remotely as planned: they fight and get emotional on the first day, they get their moment in the middle of the race and it would be perfect to just hop off their bikes and get lost in the woods right there, right at that moment, but they have to keep going, so the perfect mood fades and shifts, and then they spend every waking moment with their respective teams; Makishima is indeed a sore loser and refuses to meet Toudou on his own after missing the climbing checkpoint; they are only able to focus on their bikes, and teammates and strategies during the day and, at night, they are too tired to even think of anything but sleep.

On the third day, Sohoku wins, and Toudou’s resolution crumbles.

Then he sees Makishima crying of happiness on the main stage, and he finds a new one.

By the time he has managed to disentangle himself from the rest of his team, Makishima and Sohoku are almost ready to pack and go home themselves. Toudou knows he is not looking as polished and resolute as he meant to, not even close, with his race-hair pushed back poorly and dry sweat on his body – and from the terrified expression in Glasses-kun’s round face when he spots him, his inner turmoil is definitely showing. Makishima notices his pupil’s uneasiness and follows his line of sight until he, too, sees Toudou approaching and makes a move towards him. Makishima intercepts him several feet away from Sohoku’s bus and pulls him in between two empty tents that are waiting to be dismantled. It’s the moment Toudou has been waiting for for months and, all of a sudden, he doesn’t remember a single word and everything looks wrong – but at the same time everything seems also incredibly right, and Makishima hair is combed and loose, he’s wearing a purple shirt over his school’s sweatpants and the summer hair is hot and sweet around them; and before he knows it, Toudou is kissing Makishima straight on the mouth, just like that, out of the blue, no word spoken, no warning given.

It’s the very definition of a stolen kiss, and Toudou pulls away as soon as he realizes it, because no matter how exhilarating it felt, he never meant for his first kiss (presumably, _hopefully_ , Makishima’s too – but definitely _their_ first kiss), for any kiss, to be a stolen one. Never in his daydreams he stole kisses, this is not who he is nor _what he does_. Except he just did, and the moment he steps back and sees Makishima staring back at him wide-eyed and upset beyond recognition, Toudou feels his own heart crack and puts a hand through his mouth, squeezes his eyes shut shouting an apology and runs away. It takes Makishima a couple of seconds to run after him and call his name, and although Toudou would like to keep going and hide under a rock for a decade or two, he knows he deserves a punch or two, knows he can’t deny Makishima that right and, above all, knows he can’t resist the pull of that voice. Knows that whenever Makishima called his name, for whatever reason, he would always, without fail, answer that call.

Theyìre both panting, their legs are giving out under them and Makishima is looking murderous. Toudou can feel the tears filling his eyes and rolling down his cheeks as his heart breaks another little bit and he apologizes again, bowing down.

Makishima’s voice is coarse and broken as he asks:

\- Did you mean it?

Toudou shudders.

\- I neaver meant to _steal it_ , damn it.  
\- Screw that! Did you _mean_ it?

There’s nothing left to lose at this point and Toudou nods, resigned to his first love ending in a bloody mess of poorly conveyed emotions, and regret. Makishima exhales a shaky breath and hides behind his right palm for a few seconds before taking a step forward and taking Toudou’s face in his hands.

\- Can I? I mean-- …steal it back?

Toudou chokes on a laugh and Makishima does the same, blushing scarlet and touching their foreheads together. Toudou sniffs.

\- Maki-chan, it’s not stealing if you ask fir-

Makishima kisses him lightly on the lips, and it doesn’t matter if he asked or not. It doesn’t matter if none of Toudou’s fantasies has become real, because Makishima is kissing him like he means it, and holding onto Toudou’s neck, and Toudou gets to hug him close, and it’s more than he ever hoped for.

They pull apart for air, but don’t let go and keep their faces close.

\- I’m sorry I stole our first kiss.  
\- Geez, Jinpachi, it’s just a kiss!  
\- Just a kiss?!?  
\- I mean, the important thing is that _there was_ a kiss, isn’t it?  
\- I wanted to do it _properly_! _I had a speech_!  
\- You did?  
\- Of course! Who do you take me for!?

Makishima looks at him wide-eyes, then smiles the tender smile he reserves for their post-race, private, unfiltered moments of closeness (which Toudou has always referred to as their ‘climber pillow-talk’) and rests his head on Toudou’s shoulder. Toudou’s brain gives out, but Makishima pretends to not notice.

\- Come on, then. Let’s hear this speech. Let’s do this _properly_.

It’s enough to make Toudou want to cry again, but he refuses to and takes a deep breath, instead. And the temptation of throwing everything to the wind, state “ _I love you_ ” and snog Makishima senseless for an hour is indeed very strong, but he toughens up and starts reciting, from the beginning, words he knows by heart and feels and means by heart, too.

Nothing is the way he imagined it.

Everything is perfect.

*

\- Aw, Maki-chan, it is definitely a story that I’ll tell to our grandchildren!  
\- _What children_?!


	26. Someone's Greatest Fear - TouMaki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested from tumblr/AO3 user grimelius, from the MiniFic Meme:
> 
> Letter H - "Someone's greatest fear" - For TouMaki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst ahead.
> 
> I regret nothing.

The stone bench is hard and cold in the merciless November air, and Makishima knows that he shouldn’t spend too much time out of the house, these days, but he can’t will his body to move. Even if the drizzle is slowly seeping into his clothes and chilling him to the bone. Even if his own heart is telling him that he really should go back, that every minute he spends alone in the cold, curled up on himself, is a minute lost.

He doesn’t want to go home, though, not when he’s still upset and randomly bursting into bitter tears of anger, exhaustion and despair. He can’t be a burden, but at the same time he’s not sure he can _take_ yet another weight on his shoulders.

He could call his friends, but he’s also sure it won’t help, not really. Pretty much nothing does, nowadays. There is the fleeting thought of calling _Toudou’s_ friends, and while he can definitely see the appeal of getting Arakita involved, he also remembers that Arakita himself is not fairing all that well, lately, and since he’s going to visit soon, there is no need to put extra pressure on him (and Shinkai) too. Besides, this is Makishima’s pain and grief, and no amount of company will dull it. He’s also sure that, were he to text either (or all) of them, the only words that would appear back on his screen would be “ _I know. Please, Yuusuke, just go home._ ”. He wants to, very much so. He also dreads the moment he will, though, because an oppressively heavy cape has settled over their roof nowadays and made the air unbreathable – and even if he has pretended not to notice, until now, at this point is unavoidable: he is wet, cold and unfeeling, and still finds it more bearable than walking through his own front door and face the fact that Toudou is dying, because that’s what cancer ultimately does to people.

It would be better to state that Toudou is _ill_ , because _everyone_ on this planet is dying – someone just does it a little more quickly than the others – and Makishima has convinced himself that the opposite of life isn’t death, per se: it’s illness. Outside of very specific (and sick) circumstances, death is – he has come to realize – just absence of life. An unfillable void, silence, a blank space where once was a fitting piece. Illness is the horror of watching your own body betray you and decay right under your nose, of feeling your spirit slip through your fingers; it’s the crushing awareness of you light dimming down while your conscience _doesn’t_ , and doesn’t want to. Makishima would take death any time, over _that_ (even if he knows that death is ultimately all that there is going to be left), because seeing Toudou go through sickness of this calibre, knowing what lays ahead, is getting worse and worse every day.

There are moments such as this one, when Makishima feels so hopeless, numb and desperate that he can’t bring himself to move a muscle: on top of that, there is a thick layer of guilt, because Makishima doesn’t believe he has the right to be so scared and uselessly dramatic when _Toudou_ is the one taking the blunt of it. _Toudou_ is the one who was diagnosed with a tumor too big to be operated on the spot; _Toudou_ is the one who’s undergoing an extremely invasive therapy for months; _Toudou_ is the one who’ll face the decisive surgery in a bunch of days and _Toudou_ is the one that, from one day to the other, found himself thrown into the arena to fight for his own life with no preparation and no actual skill to do so, except for his own resilience. But Toudou is also Makishima’s husband, and the first one to understand how much the sight of his Ridley hung up on the wall of their garage tears at Makishima’s heart. Toudou has a huge ego, always had, but he’s also extremely sensitive, compassionate and very much in love with Makishima. Which is probably the reason Makishima feels like an asshole most of the time, since he should be the one showing strength and being reliable, not the contrary: he should be the one making Toudou’s life easier, not storm out of their house in distress after they had a fight.

Because they had a fight, and Makishima still hasn’t gotten over it, or the reason behind it. He needs to get up and walk home. He doesn’t like leaving Toudou alone, or being away from him, under normal circumstances: he definitely cannot do it when Toudou is in distress.

Even if Makishima feels in extreme distress himself.

*

When he reaches their house it’s not late, but it is winter, and the sky is dark – and it wasn’t when Makishima ran off to the park.

The keys sound extremely loud when he unlocks the door, and although the room is warm, the silence and low lights do not lessen the cold that Makishima feels in his stomach. He whimpers at the lack of noise, dreads what it foreshadows (a future where this is his normality) and forces himself to breathe properly.

Toudou is napping on the couch, he does a lot of that these days, and his light snores do not betray the kind of agitation Makishima is currently feeling. He takes his shoes off on the parlour, leaves them there without aligning them properly (he makes a mental note of doing it later; he’s sure he won’t – he never does – and Toudou will scold him), shrugs off his coat at the same time and pads into the living room in damp clothes, hair and socks. There is a carpet in front of their sofa, and Makishima kneels on it, between the low coffee table and the couch. He fights the impulse of wrapping himself around Toudou, or touching him altogether: he doesn’t want to make him cold (anything could be a threat to his health right now), nor to disturb his sleep. Still, Makishima craves some kind of contact too and, for the time being, he settles for leaning his head on the cushions, as close to Toudou’s hand as he can get, and closes his eyes, pretending it’s just a lazy winter afternoon like any other.

*

He wakes up to the feeling of fingers in his hair and is reticent to open his eyes, for fear it would stop. It doesn’t, even when he looks up and meets Toudou’s eyes, the one feature of his lover that hasn’t undergone a drastic transformation: they’re sunken in a face that appears greyed, aged and, most of all, tired – well beyond the limits of exhaustion – yet they haven’t lost their vibrant colour and sparkle. Nowadays, with the weight loss first and then the hair loss too, and the way all of that makes Toudou’s head seem bigger, they’re the first thing people notice when they look at him; maybe it’s better that way.

\- Welcome home.

Makishima goes straight for the hand and links their fingers together, holds onto the contact.

\- I’m sorry.

Toudou shakes his head, a hint of sorrow in his indigo eyes.

\- I shouldn’t have said any of that.

\- I yelled at you. I almost _hit_ you. I shouldn’t have reacted that way. Ever.

\- It’s okay. I would have, you know. I thought about it, while you were gone if you had proposed to me what I told you, I _would_ have hit you and lost it completely. I’m sorry.

Makishima nods and brings their hands in front of his face; kisses Toudou’s fingers.

\- I didn’t mean to stay away that long, I lost track of time.

\- It’s okay, Maki-chan.

\- I left you alone. I walked away. I-

\- Look at me.

Makishima does. Toudou has never stopped touching him and Makishima does feel a little like it is the only thing keeping him sane and, somehow, connected to reality.

\- It’s _alright_ , Maki-chan. I’m here. And you are, too.

_Yes, but for how long?_

Makishima squeezes his hand and lays his forehead on top of it. Toudou snuggles closer, and stays there.

*

Makishima tends to let Toudou sleep and rest at his own comfort usually, because the therapy is draining on Toudou’s energy (both the physical and psychological one), and Toudou needs his space, so Makishima grants him that, making sure, at the same time, that he stays in hearing range, should Toudou need anything. There are days though, days like this one, when it doesn’t feel right for either of them to give each other such space; days in which the only space they need is the one beside the other, and this particular day – be it for the lingering emotions or the gloomy atmosphere that the weather evokes – sees them sharing the sofa, spooned against each other in a familiar tangle of limbs. Makishima breathes in and almost instantly regrets it: there’s a peculiar, distinctly sterile smell that lingers on Toudou nowadays, and that directly speaks of disinfectant and long hours at the hospital. It makes Makishima sick, because he associates it with all the worst aspects of Toudou’s illness, because it covers Toudou’s natural body odor and because it has become so prominent that he is afraid this is the smell he’s going to remember Toudou by, from now on. He’s afraid he has already forgot what Toudou naturally smells like, that he’ll never know again, with no pillow nor hairbrush left in the house to tell the story. All of a sudden, it’s an unbearable loss, because it’s the memory of a smell now, but how long until it’s the sound of Toudou’s laughter? The details of his face? Those are already gone, too, and Makishima doesn’t want to need a photograph to recall of fuller, or brighter, Toudou’s face used to look. Ever.

The body in his arms fits differently too, moves in ways Makishima has attuned himself to, and he doesn’t know if it hurts more to adapt to such a reality or to look back and discover he does not have a clear memory of everything that slowly shifted and morphed into something else. Makishima just knows things changed, and not for the better, but in the midst of living a nightmare and trying to survive it, he missed the chance of recording and storing the most precious away – and it gnaws at him every day.

There’s a tiny voice in his head, a voice that sounds very much like the one he used to hear at the top of a mountain, after a race Toudou won, prideful and loud and so adorably _annoying_ as oudou proclaimed himself the God of the Mountain, blessed by the deities with such incredible talents – and this voice is the one that keeps telling him, boisterous and sometimes bordering on hysterical, that _everything is going to be alright, Maki-chan! Wahaha!_

But there’s another one, more mature, much more similar to Toudou’s adult tone and style of speech, that always waits for the first one to finish (much like one would do with a petulant child) before intervening and punctualizing that _indeed, Yuusuke, it’s going to be alright. You’re going to be fine._

Which is not the same thing at all.

At this point, Makishima is not even sure that he _does_ want to be fine; at least, not in the way the voice implies, but then, at that point, would it really make a difference to be fine or not? Would he even be able to be fine, in such a scenario? As of now, he can’t even bring himself to _think_ about it…

*

Toudou sighs and shifts slightly so that he has a better grasp of Makishima’s palm. The fingers of their left hands are intertwined and Makishima feels both his ring and Toudou’s against his skin. A twin pair of white-gold bands, discrete enough to go unnoticed in their daily life, with enough character to be _theirs_ : Makishima had kept the design in its folders for years, then, when things turned for the worst, he knew they had to be forged. He had been dreaming about it: the most famous fashion week in Europe, his impressive collection, bearing Toudou’s name, the official proposal, the impromptu escape to Paris to officially get married in the most romantic, iconic city of the world. It was going to be dramatic, sensationally cliché and so over-the-top. It would have been everything that Toudou wanted.

Instead, he got a ring in the living-room of their shared apartment, on that very same sofa, after the worst afternoon of their lives – a ring and a promise, neither of which held legal power anywhere.

\- When all of this is over, we’re jumping on a plane and have the sappiest wedding those westerners have ever seen.

Toudou had spoken onto Makishima’s neck through the tears.

\- Can it be just the two of us? Me and you, as it’s meant to be? And then we’ll share later.

Makishima had held onto him harder than ever.

\- Anything you want, Jinpachi. I promise.

*

It turns out Toudou is staring at the rings too, a smile on his lips and a serene expression. And he seems to read Makishima’s thoughts.

\- You wouldn’t believe we got married on our old carpet, looking at these.

\- Yeah, but I needed you to have it. All of it. Know it.

 _And promise it back. Because you_ always _keep your promises._

\- They make it look so real...

Makishima kisses his neck.

\- It _is_ real. It is, for us.

*

Fighting is not their thing. Of course they had disagreements in the past, and ordinary discussions much like any couple does, but outright fights are not really how they deal with that. It came to this because they’re both too vulnerable to have full reign over their thoughts and tongues – but they are also too vulnerable to truly stay mad at each other, which is why Toudou resumes talking, and he speaks in an uncharacteristically (for how _he was_ – Makishima realizes – not for how he behaves lately; add that to the list of destabilizing novelties) tentative voice, low but still perfectly audible.

\- I thought about earlier.

It really is a conversation that Makishima doesn’t want to have: he knows he can’t be rational; knows he has no patience left to invest in an argument that by his logic has no reason to exist in the first place; knows he owes Toudou more than a shouting match, even if that means explaining him something that is as much a truth to Makishima as the fact that water is wet. And on top of that, _he_ still feels hurt.

\- Jinpachi, _please_.

Toudou grasps his fingers tighter and brings their linked hands closer to his mouth.

\- I know you got mad. I _knew_ you were going to be mad. And I also know that, if I were in your place, I would have lost it completely. I would have felt betrayed and so _offended_ at the thought that you could have even only considered suggesting me such a thing. I would have questioned _you_ , myself and the nature of what keeps us together. Your idea of me and the way I’ve always perceived the core of our relationship. I would have been desperate, out of my mind and I would have felt like drowning in a sudden tide of crippling insecurities. I would have felt like the whole world had crumbled beneath my feet – which wouldn’t even have been a lie, at that point. I would have lashed out at you in the worst way possible and then I would have screamed at you the most awful things – you know how horrible I can get when I play dirty and get to low-blows, don’t you? Then, I would have sought out solitude and exhausted myself crying in frustration and shouting into pillows. I think I might have also broken something in a fit of unspent energy.

\- …then why did you do it to _me_?

Toudou curls up around their linked hands and Makishima knows he’s also squeezing his eyes shut.

\- Because I’m not the one in your place. I’m the one that cannot bear looking at himself on  mirror anymore. I’m the one that lost pounds of muscles, and all his hair. I’m the one that reeks of pharmaceuticals and pukes his guts out three times a week. I’m the one that would love to make love to yo every day, but can’t will his body to do it. And can you imagine how hard that is?

Makishima has an inkling, but can’t say he does, really.

\- I think what hurt the most was the implication that you would have been okay with it. Would you be okay with it?

\- Up until a month ago, I would have bitten your face off just for having voiced the question, but now… I think it would still kill me. But if it helped you, it would be worth it. I would understand.

Toudou turns around and looks up at him, even if it’s hard for both of them.

\- I’ve _seen_ what this shift in our dynamics has done and is doing to you. I _know_ that you are an extremely sexual person, and it pains me that on top of making you a side victim of this illness, I am letting you down like this, _on this_ when, giving the circumstances, it’s really all that we should be doing.

\- Don’t talk like this is all your fault or all that it is to us, Jinpachi, y-

\- _I love you_. So damn _much_. And I know the difference between sex and love – and I needed you to know that, regarding sex, …you had a way out. If you needed it, if it would have done you good. I would have made peace with it, for your own good.

Makishima takes Toudou’s face in his hands, maybe a bit too roughly and forcefully, but he can’t control his strength, nor the growl that comes out of his mouth.

\- I love you too. And if you knew me than you would also know that this is about _you_. It has always been about you, and you alone. Do you believe that at this point in our life, in _this_ moment, I could just leave this house for a couple of hours to have casual sex with someone else, because I have an itch to scratch!? Jinpachi!?

Toudou closes his eyes and sighs.

\- No. Not really, no. But I needed to say it. I needed you to start thinking about it. About sex with other people.

\- Why!?

\- Because there is a very high chance that I won’t be the only man you’ll have sex with, in your life, and I want you to be ready for the possibility, when it will present itself.

\- If.

\- I need you to be _ready_. I need to know you’ll be alright.

Makishima doesn’t know he’s crying until he has pressed his face on Toudou’s shoulder and Toudou is hugging him in earnest.

\- You can’t ask me to be _alright_.

\- Not right away. But I need to know you’lle be, in the end.

Makishima bites his shirt through the tears, angry at himself and at a loss.

\- God, I feel so fucking _useless_.

He can feel Toudou’s lips on his forehead. Toudou’s fingers in his hair. He proposed to shave off his own hair, as a sign of solidarity, but Toudou threw a fit and forbid him to.

\- You know, Maki-chan, this sounds extremely selfish and quite awful when I say it out loud but… I’m kind of glad it went this way.

\- _You’re glad?!_

\- …because if our positions were reversed, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.

\- _I_ don’t know what to do with myself all the time!

\- But you’re here. You work from home, you take care of me, of the house, when I don’t manage to do my part. You stay with me, and talk to me, and _look_ at me. You’re present. You’ve been from the start. I would have spent days unable to accept the reality of it, if I were you. I would have denied evidence and would have kept insisting it was going to turn out fine. You would have pushed me into considering the chances, into not leaving out any possible outcome, and it would have been your own cry of help, but I would have been too focused on my sorrow to hear it. You listened to my cry for help before I understood that I had uttered one. You handled it better than I could have ever hoped of doing, if I had been in your place. If I am as fine as I can be, at the moment, is thanks to you. And now all I’m worried about, beside trying my hardest to not leave your side at all, is making sure you don’t spiral out of control if I don’t succeed. Because _I know you_ , I know how you can get; and I know you have plenty of friends already watching your back and ready to step in, but I’m your _husband_ , and I love you, and it’s my job to take care of you just as much as you’ve been taking care of me. Because you have, Maki-chan.

They kiss, because it’s one thing that still tastes and feels the same. And because Toudou is perfect, and Makishima can’t have enough of him, of any of this.

\- I promise I’ll do my best.

\- Thanks. Me too.

*

\- Maki-chan.

-Mh?

\- Would you please make love to me, before we head to the hospital? Even if my body doesn’t answer…right. Can we try?

\- Of course we can. Whenever you want.

*

One look at the clock and it turns out it’s time to start dinner, even if both their stomachs are a bit upturned. Makishima gets up first and frowns at Toudou’s extended hand.

\- I can manage. Rest, if you feel like it.

Toudou pouts.

\- You can’t manage, unless I teach you how. Besides, let me. I want to do it.

The “ _while I still can_ ” echoes in both their heads, carrying its heavy baggage of implications, and for a moment Makishima is tempted to put his foot down and admit that he doesn’t want to know how to cook healthy dinners, that he doesn’t want to _manage just fine_ , on his own. He knows he can fix the vegetables in a very passable way, but he still wants Toudou to nag him about the way he handles the knife and show him how to not overcook their meals.

He pulls Toudou up, because really, it’s the only option, but  instead of heading to the kitchen, Makishima hugs him loosely instead. Toudou leans on him and hugs back, and for the first time today Makishima is able to understand just how frail Toudou feels in his arms.

He is Toudou’s husband, a title that fits like a glove, and he wants to protect him. He can’t wrestle the tumor out of Toudou’s knee, but he can still wear an armour and offer Toudou everything he has, be his crutch, support and punching bag as they walk through the minefield together, not even knowing if there is a happy ending waiting ahead.

He cradles Toudou and feels his fear, knows they’re both terrified out of their minds and that it’s up to him to put on a brave mask and clear the way while Toudou does the actual fighting on his own.

They keep kissing in the unlit living room, and as days pass it gets harder and harder to let go, because all of a sudden the phrase ‘ _do it like it’s the last time_ ’ has gained a whole new meaning, and ultimately what scares Makishima the most is the lucid awareness that, one way or the other, _all of this_ – life as he’s always known it - will be over for good, very soon. And he has no saying in this, no control, after having fought for his freedom, and his agency, and their right to be together as a family for so long… it’s a slap on the face, a carpet pulled off from under his feet, a threat to _Toudou’s_ dreams even before his own, which makes it completely unacceptable.

Toudou holds one him and caresses his hair and face, smiling lightly. Makishima takes a deep breath and mellows down, letting anger and despair simmer down, letting them go as much as he’s able to for now, and letting Toudou in, instead.

It feels like it’s the last time.

Lately, it always does.

One of these days, it will probably be.


	27. A Drunken Kiss - TouMaki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested from lordonisyr, for the Sweet Affectionate Moments Meme:
> 
> #4 - A Drunken Kiss - TouMaki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a tumblr post about the true nature of cofee shops and the real madness that surrounds that kind of jobs.  
> (I worked in retail and I subscribe, btw)

\- He _pissed on me_!  
\- You do realize we’re competition, right?  
\- What? Are you saying _you_ sent him? _On purpose_?!  
\- No, I’m saying that it’s weird you keep running _here_ once our shifts are over, to get wasted and tell _me_ about your day!  
\- But that’s because I _like_ you, Maki-chan!  
\- That’s it, no more beer for you.

Sohoku is a small cafeteria that looks almost out of place on a street such as that one, in an area popular enough for thing to get chaotic (to say the least) at rush hour: it’s the kind of intimate, family-friendly coffee shop where girls stop by after school to enjoy a slice of cake and that customers seek out to get a glimpse of that homey, cozy feeling you don’t usually find in franchise stores. HakoGaku is exactly that kind of franchise, a brand in itself, the most popular in their field: a good starting idea, a solid set of ethical principles, a well-structured organization – the rest was business, and that business led to a giant colossus that Toudou is proud to be part of. Most of the time. Definitely not tonight.

\- I’m telling you that I was on cleaning duty tonight, and I started from the stalls, and this one was like totally unlocked, so I open the door like it’s nothing and before I can realize it there’s this guy pissing _all over me_!  
\- Not in the toilet?  
\- On the _completely opposite direction_! He was like, 180 degrees wrong! He practically stood facing the door with his dick in hand, ready to shoot at whoever walked in on him!  
\- Must have been almost painful.  
\- Maki-chan!  
\- I mean, think about it: how much control over your bladder do you think it takes?

Before Toudou can pass out in indignation, Kinjou walks in from the back, wiping a glass and looking tired.

\- Sounds like HakoGaku found their own personal Vengeful Piss Camel.

Makishima chokes on his own beer and cackles.

\- Kuha! Indeed!

Toudou frowns, so Makishima elaborates.

\- Before we changed location and came here, we had this customer that could become bothersome, right out of the blue, and at some point we were kind of forced to ask him to leave, and every time, without fail, he just pissed himself on the spot, just like that, out of pure spite.  
\- Seriously, what’s with people and pissing anywhere but in the toilet?!  
\- I’m more interested in knowing how you dealt with your own shooter.

Toudou groans and lowers his head, hiding his face into his crossed arms, on the table.

\- I didn’t.

Makishima raises a brow and sips his drink.

\- What do you mean?

Toudou moves his arms out of the way and rests his cheek directly onto the wooden surface.

\- I mean that I screamed so hard that Arakita barged in and took care of him. Don’t ask how or why, I was in shock. But I think Shinkai was involved.

Kinjou pipes in again, in a very discrete fashion.

\- Wasn’t Fukutomi, too?

And Toudou is too drunk to put a leash on his tongue.

\- Fuku is forbidden to walk in any bathroom but the staff one. We unanimously relieved him from the cleaning shifts after the accident with the… ehr, extremely _affectionate_ couple. 

Kinjou nods and walks away, a satisfied smirk on his lips, and Toudou has the impression of having made a mistake but really, the day has already been awful enough.

\- Geez, I thought that working at HakoGaku would have put an end to this kind of stunts.  
\- …why would it?  
\- The corporation? The management? The apparent transparency of our supriors?

Makishima chugs down the rest of his beer, sitting sideways on his chair and leaning on his elbow.

\- HakoGaku is not run by a group of missionaries, Toudou, they’re just better at hiding their skeletons. They _do_ have bigger cupboards, after all.

*

They met pretty much a year before, when HakoGaku bought the place after the previous owners and their staff walked right out of the door in the middle of a shift and never came back, causing such a ruckus inside their own company that they threw the towel and sold everything – and Toudou and his friends got transferred there.

Toudou made a face at Makishima’s wild hair and wondered out loud if he had ever heard of hygiene standards and customer care. Makishima sneered at him and pointed out that at least _their_ uniform policy forbid lame headbands at page three.

A month later, Mr Pierre, resident of the neighbourhood garbage can #7, in use of the few shops of the block, let Toudou know that it displeased him greatly to have them throw the trash away while he was still inside the bin, and expressed his disappointment by reversing their positions. Makishima helped him take all the carrots out of his hair and gave him the weekly schedule of Mr Pierre’s naps.

Six month later, a lady yelled at Makishima, who was closing the shop, that nobody in their right mind should have hired the likes of him, and that he should have been ashamed of himself for being so flamboyantly deviant in everyone’s faces while working behind a counter. Toudou asked if she knew that the most polite, most invisible employees in their field were, statistically, the ones that expressed themselves better by spitting into their customers’ coffees.

By Makishima’s birthday, Toudou had made it a habit to join him after closing hours at least once a week, when their shifts overlapped, to chat about the shenanigans of the day in front of a drink.

By Todou’s birthday, Makishima had accepted the routine.

At Halloween, when HakoGaku imposed to their staff to dress up for the occasion and provided costumes, Makishima made the mistake of looking at Toudou in a sexy black-cat outfit and knew he’d lost the right to land his eyes on a kitten (or a piece of fake leather) ever again.

On the same night, Toudou considered wasting his savings and occupation on pumpkin-based drinks, because what was a job compared to the sight of Maki-chan brewing holiday-themed beverages in a witch costume?

On Christmas Eve, he had bribed Tadokoro into saving him one of Makishima’s favourite cakes and paid for it in advance: that night, a particularly nasty customer caused such a commotion that HakoGaku’s very belligerent, very pregnant manager had to intervene, proceeding to go into labour right after the authorities had taken the man into custody. The baby was beautiful, and Tadokoro gave him his money back, along with the cake.

*

\- I make _coffee_ for a living! I heat up milk! I mix powders! I wipe counters! How come that I have more horror stories in my arsenal than an ER nurse!?  
\- ER nurse are overrated: they don’t have many stories to tell, it’s just that they are always the best ones.  
\- But they’re always about people putting stuff in their butts!  
\- And there’s no way _that_ will stop being funny.  
\- They _save lives_! I serve people their breakfasts!  
\- That’s the key, Jinpachi: fatally injured people tend to focus on staying alive themselves, not putting you in the position of considering suicide.  
\- I’ll drink to that.  
\- You have drunk enough.  
\- …at least if I get piss on myself, this time it will be on my own terms.  
\- …I’ll drink to _that_ , I think.

 

\- How did we end up like this, anyway?  
\- You decided to add alcohol to our weekly meetings once we were both of age. By the way, Maki-chan, I keep telling you it’s not healthy.  
\- We sell hyper caloric, sugar beverages for a living, Jinpachi. Beer is probably the healthiest thing you can spill inside this building. And I didn’t mean it that way.  
\- What way?  
\- How did we end up doing this job?

Toudou down his third drink and slams the glass on the table, face red from the alcohol.

\- I like catering to people. My parents had an inn, they’re trying to re-open it and I’m doing my part.  
\- _My_ parents threw me out of the house.  
\- Why!?

Makishima stares into his own third pint.

\- Because I refused to let my hair stay brown and want to be a fashion designer.   
\- That’s so cool…  
\- It’s not, if it doesn’t pay the bills.

There’s an uncertain, discordant note in Makishima’s voice that tugs at Toudou’s heart.

\- Let me see your clothes!  
\- No way!  
\- Maki-chaaan!  
\- You’re drunk!  
\- You too!

They lie there, slumped over the small square table, heads on their forearms and elbows touching. Thoroughly intoxicated in the way only desperate, over-dramatic young adults who are barely legal can get.

\- Maki-chan.   
\- Mh?  
\- I’m glad I met you.

Makishima blinks.

\- I work the weirdest shifts, can barely save money to send home and, given my profession, risk a nervous breakdown more or less thrice a week. But I’m glad I get to drown my sorrows on cheap beer with you every Thursday. I like you.

The kiss is an awkward touch of lips at the wrong angle, it tastes of hop and is nothing like Toudou had imagined. It’s also better, at least because it’s real.

\- Took you long enough.  
\- I literally said the same words an hour ago when I came in, Maki-chan.  
\- I wasn’t drunk, then.  
\- Are you saying you only want to kiss me when you’re drunk?  
\- I want to kiss you all the time, but I can’t if I’m not drunk.  
\- What else can’t you do when you’re not drunk?

Makishima thinks about it, seriously.

\- Tell you I’ve drawn and sewn together several clothes for you?  
\- Why didn’t you show me!??!  
\- Too embarrassing. What if you don’t like them? What if you don’t like me?!

Toudou flicks his forehead, pouting. Makishima frowns and shakes his head. They stay slumped over the table, looking at each other from behind their arms, both scarlet to the tip of their ears and far too wasted to act on their reciprocated feelings.

\- I need to take a nap.  
\- Second that.  
\- Promise me you’ll show me the clothes tomorrow.  
\- Deal. Promise me you’ll still mean it in the morning.  
\- Deal. Do you think we can just… sleep here? At least for a while.  
\- Toudou, people have fucked in every corner of this shop for years. Sleeping off some booze without throwing up is probably the mildest thin an employee has done in this place afterhours.  
\- Savages.  
\- Your previous manager sniffed coke every morning in his office.   
\- How do you know!!?  
\- _Our_ previous manager walked in on him and told us.  
\- So the rumors of their affair were true?  
\- I can only confirm the bit about the threesome in the supply track. That’s how her second marriage ended.  
\- Maki-chan, promise me we’ll never reach that level of drama.

Makishima stared at him, eyes slightly unfocused.

We work for rival companies that try to bankrupt each other, Jinpachi. We shouldn’t even be talking. We’re already so much drama they could call us _Caffeinated Romeo and Juliet_.  
\- …can we at least have sex more than once and try to come out of this alive?  
\- I’ll do my best, but who can say, in this business.

The second kiss is sweeter, and tastes of hope


	28. Tending an injury - TouMaki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by tumblr user zzpopzz, for the Sweet Affectionate Moents Meme:
> 
> Prompt #26 - Tending an injury - TouMaki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Witch!Makishima has taken over me (thanks, yuurei-desu dear).  
> Except this time he isn't.

\- Ouch!  
\- I told you to _stay still_ -  
\- You’re not the one with a most likely broken ankle, Maki-chan.  
\- No, but I’m the one trying to _fix it_.

Toudou glances down at the make-shift cast Makishima is putting together with anything that the nature has to offer: he doesn’t like to look at his injured leg, but he can’t help but feel a magnetic pull every time Makishima does something with his hands, even when that something involves his broken bones.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that Makishima is what everyone in the village calls a witch, so anything he does is somehow surrounded by this mysterious aura that makes it even more special.

\- Can’t you, like, spell it back together? Hocus-pocus it into healing?

Makishima stares at him like he would to a bug. No, wait, _certain_ bugs are worthy of his attention and fascination: right now, he’s looking at Toudou like he’s a mouldy piece of decayed food.

\- We talked about it. There’s no such thing as “hocus-pocus”.  
\- But you’re a witch!  
\- I’m a fine brewer of herbal remedies, for fuck’s sake! Stop saying that!

Toudou shouldn’t be in his company. Makishima lives apart from the rest of the village, isolated on the mountain, in a pretty, peaceful clearing on the way to the peak and near the river. Everybody knows it, everybody avoids it, every forbids their children to go there. Toudou’s parents did the same, but they always underestimated Toudou’s kinship with the mountain, and by the time he could walk its paths on his own, his meeting with the witch was only a few coincidences away. In his defence, Toudou could say that he never sought out Makishima of his own volition: he kept his distance from the clearing religiously – it just happened, out of the blue. Quite literally, since he slipped on a rock while crossing the river and the current brought him to a secluded curve downstream, pushing him on land right at the feet of someone that was gathering water there. A kid of Toudou’s age, with spidery limbs, a creepy expression and iridescent green hair. Toudou had known who Makishima was at the first glance. So, he had run away at full speed. Then, he had gone back. Over and over again.

\- Not even  a healing potion? A sip against anything that’s bad in the world?  
\- That’s called ‘sake’ and is as much a poison as it is a remedy.  
\- Ow! No but seriously: anything for the pain?

Makishima ties Toudou’s leg with a definite nod, exhales and looks up, mellowed down.

\- Yes. That, I can do. Here, I’ll carry you home.

“Home”  is a small, wooden construction that one has to squint to see among the vegetation: there’s a herbal garden around it, and wild flowers here and there, with the occasional animal. Toudou loves how domestic, familiar and lived-in it feels; Makishima hasn’t known anything else in his brief life.

The trip to Makishima’s front door is longer than usual, given their impediments, but not really difficult, since the path they are following is large and wrought.

Makishima helps Toudou down on a pile of worn-down cushions, then turns around to rummage in the cupboard and quickly pulls out dry leaves. Soon, there is water boiling on a small brazier, and the scent of the infusion fills the place.

\- I wish they could see you.  
\- Trust me, you don’t. I certainly do not.  
\- They’d like you, if they only knew you.  
\- They didn’t know me at all when they banished Mother up here.

And if he survived, it’s only thanks to the mercy of the Tadokoro family, whose head refused to believe a child could be evil just because of his hair colour, and brought him food and supplies even after Makishima’s mother died. Now, he can take care of himself, but Tadokoro’s oldest son, who is Makishima’s age, still brings him treats, sometimes.

\- If we could just make them _listen_ , show them that you’re harmless….

Makishima slams his hand on the wooden table, makes the cups clatter.

\- They _don’t care_ , is it so hard to understand?! They’re safe: they locked the monster away! Can we stop pretending they would accept me, just because you say so?!  
\- They hold me into high consideration.  
\- They’re starting to whisper behind your back, I’ve heard them: saying you’re too good to be real, that you must have made a deal with a demon in order to be so beautiful and gifted-  
\- I am beautiful and gifted.  
\- I’m serious! You spend tpp much time up here, Jinpachi, please don’t give them even more reasons to doubt you.   
\- …what are you saying?

Makishima turns his back on him, fidgeting with his hands, dusting imaginary crumbs off the counter.

\- Maybe you should just… take a break from this place for a while. Let your foot heal properly and then wait some more.

Makishima doesn’t turn around when he hears rustling and a grunt, but he’s not surprised when he feels arms around his waist, holding him at first and then moving him around until they’re face to face.

\- Don’t. Don’t push me away. I love you. You know I do.

Makishima hugs him back and nods into Toudou’s shoulder, thoughtful. It would be easier if Toudou didn’t. Or if Makishima himself didn’t reciprocate the feeling.

\- I can’t make you an outcast.  
\- You won’t.  
\- Jinpachi…

Toudou rocks them back and forth with a soothing sound, and for a moment Makishima wishes he was a real witch, so he could freeze this moment in time and keep it inside himself forever. He could also burn the village to the ground and give them all something to fear and hate for real, for once, but he’s not sure Toudou would appreciate that.

For now, all they have is stolen moments like this one, that nowadays are growing more dangerous and more suspicious as much as the two of them are growing needier.

\- This will end badly – Makishima says, and it doesn’t sound like a lament, but more like a statement, from the mouth of someone whos experience revolves around this kind of disappointment. Toudou kisses his temple.

\- Maybe.  But I can promise you we’ll be together.

Makishima tries not to smile but fails miserably and places a light kiss at the corner of Toudou’s mouth.

\- Drink the tea and sit down. Don’t risk injuring your ankle further. Tadokoro will come and get you, bring you home safely.

Toudou nods, disentangle himself reluctantly from Makishima and sits down. He takes a sip from the warm cup: it tastes bitter, and he makes a face.

\- Painkillers should taste sweeter.  
\- It’s because that one is a love potion. I’ve been feeding it to you for years.  
\- Really?!?  
\- No. It’s literally dry herbs I picked outside the porch.  There’s a high chance the cats pissed on them too, at some point.  
\- You’re so _mean_.  
\- Drink it. All in one gulp, come on.

*

\- You know Jinpachi, this could actually work in our favour.   
\- What?  
\- I mean, it’s a bit hard to believe you’ve entrusted your soul to a demon in the woods if you call yourself the God of the Mountain and break a leg running away from a dragonfly.  
\- _It startled me!!!_


	29. "I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice!" - TouMaki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by an anonymous user on tumblr:
> 
> Prompt #22 - "I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice!" - TouMaki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Ai Yazawa, if you hadn't noticed before.

When Toudou enters the library that day, the green guy is at his usual table, close to the window and already half-hidden behind a fortress of colourful yet heavy-looking books. It’s a very peculiar sight, because everything about that young man’s body language speaks about introversion and a firm will to be as invisible to the crowd as possible, but everything about his look screams otherwise. It’s extremely hard to not notice someone with two feet of naturally wavy, iridescent hair, especially in a sea of brown and black heads, although with the occasional blond spot. It is also unlikely that, in the midst of gakurans and pleated skirts, one would miss the edgy trousers and improbable sweaters.

His presence is so loud that the library feels extremely empty when he’s not there, even if at first glance it might look as packed as ever. Toudou goes there out of necessity, mostly: he doesn’t really like studying next to strangers, and fears that the easiness of being distracted in such an environment, but the place had a rich collection of magazines and publications that he is finding useful for his thesis, and it surely is more silent than his own home. After weeks of adjustin, he feels like he’s finally found his routine and place inside that microcosm: he has his favourite table, the lady behind the counter loves him, he has started recognizing familiar faces here and there and his study sessions have steadily become longer and more productive.

The green guy hates him, of that Toudou is sure. He’s always there when Toudou arrives, even if it’s opening time, and whenever Toudou leaves for dinner, the green guy is still hunched over his notes. He’s a restless one, Toudou noticed: perpetually concentrated, that Toudou has to concede, but with an unwavering tension that makes his movements sharp and cutting – and gives him the air of someone who lives into a never ending agonistic trance. It must be exhausting. From the few glimpses that Toudou has managed to steal of his ever-changing wall of books, he must be a student of the Art Academy, which would not justify. But kind of explain the lack of uniform and the stylistic choices – although Toudou didn’t imagine there could be so much to study to pursue such a carreer. Fashion, visual arts, art history, contemporary studies, media, photography, marketing, design are only a few of the subject that have passed under the bony hands of the green guy (a pianist hands, or at least an artisan’s one), exiting the library in the shape of colourful yet neat notes, schemes and summaries. Greeny also has a wide sketch pad that he takes out sometimes: when he does, he looks on the verge of snapping for good, and his gestures are less measured and far more angular than usual. In those occasions, he throws Toudou looks of utter disgust and annoyance, a step above the measured contempt he normally shows to the rest of them.  Toudou is not sure about the reason for which this peculiar guy hates him so much but is expression doesn’t make room for mistakes. It irks him, because the library is a public space: it’s Toudou’s right to study there and he has even been granted access to the rarest publications, thanks to his impeccable behaviour; he always follows the rules word for word, has the clearest record in terms of punctuality in returning the borrowed material, is super-silent, well organized and never shabby nor slovenly. The negative aura that stems from the Green One whenever they cross path (or Toudou enters his field of vision) is strong enough to make his skin crawl: the guy’s face darkens, and he quickly discards books and notebooks to take out a different kind of pencil and his sketch pad – then draws aggressively for a long time. Every mark on the paper feels to Toudou like a stab to the back, and he has to admit that his nemesis strikes a very dramatic pose, huddled up and half- hidden behind a tower of reference volumes, gangly and awkwardly sat at the classic, wooden table, totally out of place and with a neon pink ball pen tightly gripped in his left hand.

By the time summer rolls by and autumn approaches, the menacing attitude of the art student is so tangible that Toudou feels the hair at the back of his neck spring up. It has started to affect his studies, and even the other students have begun to shift further and further away from the Green Spider (not that they sat close to him in the first place).

This particular morning, though, maybe because it’s raining and people have less excuses to not study, the library is full of people, so much that even Toudou’s favourite table has been occupied, and he curses the ten minutes delay he got by putting his bike back into the garage and running to the closest bus stop.

Somebody at the very back of the room gathers their things, stands up and hurries away: it’s the occasion Toudou has been waiting for, even if he knows perfectly well whose table that is; screw this guy that hates him for no reason, he needs to study.

The trick lies in not giving him the chance to protest, and Toudou thanks the deities for gifting him the ability of moving with perfect efficiency in perfect silence: he dislikes the nickname, but a ninja he is. Before the green menace can even smell him, Toudou has sat beside him and taken out his books and markers, as if he’s always been there. Hes nemesis does a double take when he finally notices his new table-partner, and Toudou finds out that, indeed, this guys’ eyes are very blue. After the initial surprise, they roll in a familiar expression of intolerance, and since it’s late, kind of cold and Toudou has done nothing wrong, he snaps:

\- Look, I don’t know what’s your problem, but get over it, alright?

The guy looks at him bewildered and sneers.

\- Excuse me?!  
\- I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice. It’s creepy: I tried minding my own business, so I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you glaring daggers into my back every time I appear in your field of vision. Stop it.

The guy opens his mouth to retort, then stops dead in his tracks and looks sideways, blushes scarlet and goes back to his own textbooks, mumbling to himself (and to Toudou) an apology. Toudou can’t believe their epic showdown just resolved itself in the most anti-climatic way.

Sharing the table with the green guy is less of an hassle than Toudou thought it would be: he’s left-handed, so they never bump elbows and occupy different sides of the desk; they keep a reasonable, practical distance, they’re both neat and mindful of each other’s space. They’re also silent and focused, so time flies without as much as a skirmish. Instead, Toudou has the chance to appreciate the curve of the guy’s neck, the quirky way think locks of short, green hair escape from his ponytail and curl around his ear, the moles dotting his paler than average skin. He has long fingers, thin bones, a captivating way to carry himself. The morning rolls by and at some point Toudou looks up from his notes and stretches himself on the chair, humming. There’s a loud growl from the other side of the table and he turns around alarmed. The green guy stares ahead, unblinking, his pencil rolling out of his fingers and over his papers; then, he groans and hides behind his palms while Toudou giggles, incredulous.

\- …hungry, are we?

The guy sighs.

\- …I haven’t had much to eat this morning, so…

Toudou rummages thourgh his bag and takes out a small pack of baby carrots, that his interlocutor side-eyes with a curled lip.

\- Here.  
\- What’s that supposed to be?  
\- A perfectly healthy snack that I’m offering to share.  
\- Look, I appreciate the thought very much, but I was thinking about going get myself some kind of real lunch.  
\- And let digestion put you to sleep so you can waste the rest of the afternoon being drowsy instead of working?  
\- Well, right now the alternative is passing out from low blood sugar, so if you don’t mind I’ll go find carbs. And dessert.   
\-  I’m coming with you.  
\- What!? No! …why?!  
\- Because you’ll kill yourself on junk food if I don’t. And because I plan to share my own lunch with you, so I need to get something more for myself.  
\- Who asked you?!  
\- Nobody. I’m a nutritionist in training. It’s my vocation. You’re welcome.

The green guy groans loudly, but he doesn’t protest further.

\- Fine. You’re paying then.  
\- WHAT!?

*

\- I feel cheated.

The green guy, Makishima, shrugs and nibbles on a carrot stick of his own. They did end up getting a salad.

\- It was fun to tease you.  
\- You’re so mean, Maki-chan!

It is also fun, nd good retaliation, to make Makishima blush neon pink, and the quickest, most infallible way to do so – Toudou has learned over their lunch break – is calling him with overly familiar nicknames.

\- …but you should also eat properly: stop fidgeting and finish your meal.  
\- What are you, my mother?  
\- I’m the one you hare your table with: I don’t want to hear your stomach’s monologues the whole afternoon!  
\- You won’t. I always lose my appetite when I have deadlines.  
\- Is that why you’re trying to die crushed under a stack of books?  
\- No. Those are for finals and side-projects. But I have a fashion show in a few weeks.  
\- Uh? The Yaza festival?

Makishima nods, impressed, and Toudou beams.

\- It’s famous! It launched the founder of Happy Berry, didn’t it?! Is that the festival that gives a scholarship to London to the winner?

At the mention of London, there’s a sparkle at the corner of Makishima’s eye.

\- Exactly.

*

By the time they return to their table it’s almost closing hours and someone else has rightfully taken their places, pushing their books and notes to the side. They gather everything up with no sound of protest, then meet again out of the library door. The sky is not clear, but at least it has stopped raining.

\- I’m sorry, I made you waste an afternoon of good work.

Toudou shakes his head.

\- So did I. And from what I gathered, your time is far more precious than mine at the moment: are you going to the atelier now?

Makishima nods again, and tucks away a loose strand of hair.

\- Yes. I seriously need to start cutting or I won’t make it for the festival. It’s just…

Toudou turns his head to the side.

\- What?

Makishima looks away, suddenly shy, and curls up on himself, does his best to disappear from view. Quite the feat, since he’s wearing a lime sweater that clashes with his hair, and an electric blue raincoat.

\- …look…I don’t know how to say it… would you… I mean, do you… oh, shit… have you ever considered the idea of being a model? Even if just for a single fashion show?

Makishima looks on the verge of panic. Toudou blinks, dumbstruck.

\- Eh?  
\- I’ve been watching you for a while. I mean, at the library. When you walked in. Geez, saying it out loud makes it seems so creepy, I swear there was nothing weird about it. You come here often. So do I. Sometimes, when you arrived, I watched you. How can I say this… it’s a matter of lines, Jinpachi, and you have gorgeous lines. And I’ve found a periwinkle blue fabric that with the right cut and occasional print work might be perfect for my festival project. And… it’s your colour. I mean, I think it’s your colour, I’m even more convinced of it now, so… yeah. I had to try? Call it an artist’s idiosyncrasy…

It would have taken either of the three – Makishima’s cute attitude, the compliments or the proposal of being a model for a day – to convince Toudou. He got all three, all together, so there really was no game at all.

\- YES! I mean… I’d love to! When can we start?!

Makishima smiles wide, and Toudou has never felt so good about one of his choices before.

\- Would… would you like to accompany me to the workroom? I can introduce you to the team and we can look at my project together, get you acquainted with the idea. I’ve drawn a full sketchbook!  
\- Sure, lead the way!

They hop on the sidewalk together, chatting animatedly about all the doodles that Makishima couldn’t help putting down most of the times he saw Toudou walk by at the library, and Toudou can’t help but feel the world shift under his feet every time Makishima inadvertently calls him by his given name.

He could get used to it.  
He could definitely get used to it.


	30. "Tell me a secret!" - AsaNoya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by an anonymous tumblr user:
> 
> Prompt #45: "Tell me a secret!" - AsaNoya

Asahi is back on the team, the morale is high and Nishinoya feels lighter then he’s had in the past weeks. All of a sudden, cleaning up the gym after practice is no more a haunting memory. Having Asahi back is obviously the best part, and Nishinoya’s inability to not act on his emotions and impulsive ideas makes it so the two of them spend a lot of extra time together nowadays, bonding and finding new trust into each other.

It starts as a game, as pretty much anything does whenever Nishinoya gets bored: a round of truth or dare, a silly competition, a dramatic recounting of the latest adventure, featuring the occasional Tanaka, always ready to give his contribute. Asahi hold back a little, because that’s who he is and what he does, but doesn’t walk away: it’s their tacit agreement after the reunion; respect for boundaries in exchange for no more withdrawing. The concept of boundaries, though, varies, and Nishinoya’s greatest talent lies in pushing it always a little further.

It works fine: Nishinoya’s funny antics are enough to keep up the spirit of the team and channel their need for light-hearted camaraderie. Everything seems suddenly easier, possible, with him around.  

The mood shifts a little when it’s just him and Asahi left. There’s painful history between them, and although Nishinoya is more than ready to put it all behind them, although Asahi has proved to have the will and strength to do the same, it’s not so easy an obstacle to overcome.

\- Tell me a secret!

Asahi stops pushing the mop and looks up.

\- Ah?

\- Come on, Asahi-san! Tell me a secret!

Colour starts creeping out of Asahi’s collar, rising up towards his ears, and Nishinoya swears he can see fear making its way into his eyes.

\- …ehr…I wouldn’t know.

Nishinoya waltzes around his own broom and makes a spectacle out of it.

\- I’ll go first, then: I’m 159.3 centimetres high!

\- That’s hardly a secret, though.

Nishinoya feigns offence, but Asahi apologizes again and again, until Nishinoya has to reassure him that yes, he was kidding, and that actually was a good pun. He might have killed for it had it been uttered by a tall, undisciplined first year, but he can’t fault Asahi for placing a sassy comeback at a time like this, when they need him to hold every drop of confidence he can get. Besides, it was a nice one.

\- …I’d like to do some kind of extreme sport, one day.

It takes Nishinoya completely out of guard and throws him off-balance.

\- You what?!

Asahi laughs awkwardly and runs a hand through his hair.

\- It’s silly, isn’t it? Nevermind.

Nishinoya runs in front of him, arms outstretched: he wouldn’t block a middle-schooler, but his aura somehow makes up for it, and suddenly he is serious. Focused, much like during a match.

\- It’s not. Please, tell me.

Asahi toys a bit with the handle of the mop and looks around. Then, he sighs and kind of nods, touching his neck.

\- You know that thing people do, when they tie their ankles on a swing chord and jump off a bridge? I’d like to do that, even just once. You know, to prove myself I have that kind of courage. I have the feeling that if I managed to do something like that, I’d never underestimate myself again. It’s hard to stop someone that has had the resolution to willingly jump into the void. That, and I’d like to know what it feels to be flying: it’s good when I jump over the net, above everyone else – I bet that it’s even better.

Nishinoya is speechless, which is a rare enough occurrence for Asahi to start fretting. But Nishinoya shakes his head like a wet puppy after some seconds and looks up at him with shining eyes that makes him look a lot like Hinata, and also quite younger. As soon as he opens his mouth, though, the magic is broken.

\- That’s so cool!!!

Kind of.

Asahi giggles and starts wiping the floor again, while Nishinoya jumps around the gym making aeroplane noises and wondering out loud in his own onomatopoeic words just how incredibly cool and wonderful and amazing that could be.

\- Asahi-san!!!

\- Yes?

\- Let’s win all our matches and go to nationals!

\- Ehr…sure…

\- And then let’s go bungee jumping!

\- What?!

\- Promise me we’ll go bungee jumping together once we won!

\- I…

Maybe it’s the spark in Nishinoya’s eyes, or maybe the absurdity of that idea, or perhaps it’s the disarming simplicity and geniality of it, but Asahi laughs. Loudly, and in the most heartfelt way. Just the sound makes Nishinoya want to join in.

\- Alright! Yes, alright!

It’s a promise sealed with more laughter and a high-five.

Nishinoya insists on clapping hands above Asahi’s head.

It takes him three jumps to manage.


End file.
